


Occupy Camelot

by stagarden



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 07:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stagarden/pseuds/stagarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Arthur promises the spirit of the Druid boy who possessed Sir Elyan to treat the Druids with the respect they deserve, he is soon put to the test.  A large group of Druid protesters shows up in his courtyard to demand that he honor that promise, and they stage increasingly outrageous demonstrations to advance their agenda. Arthur is quickly drawn to their leader, Merlin. A story based loosely on the “Occupy Wall Street” protests in Manhattan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Occupy Camelot

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta, lawgoddess, not only for her editing skills but also for her support and encouragement. I couldn’t have done this without her. Thanks also to gwylliondream, corilannam, gilli_ann, and archaeologist_d for their ideas, assistance, and friendship. Thanks to my other forum friends, past and present, as well. Thanks to aaweth_edain for creating art for this story. And a special thanks to the_muppet for running this fest so flawlessly. It’s been a pleasure participating.

“Hey hey, ho ho, laws against magic have got to go!  Hey hey, ho ho, laws against magic have got to go!”

It was barely dawn, and the drumbeats and chanting had already begun.  Arthur put his pillow over his head, but he knew it was no use.  If yesterday was anything to go by, in another few minutes they would start banging pots, and once that racket got going there was no chance he’d get any more rest.  Arthur rolled onto his back, wondering if heavier curtains on the windows would muffle the noise.

It had been like this for days.  What had started, perhaps a week ago, as a few unwashed Druids and their sympathizers waving banners and parading around the courtyard, had now grown into a small tent city, complete with a functioning kitchen, a healer’s tent, and a semi-regular schedule of organized shouting and rabble rousing.

Yesterday, the group had cordoned off a section of the main courtyard using boards and barrels as a kind of makeshift fencing, and appeared to have spent most of the afternoon in furious conversation among themselves.  Concerned at first that perhaps they were up to no good, Arthur had ended up watching them from his chambers for longer than he would have admitted, standing back behind the shutter to stay out of sight.  He had counted about two dozen of them gathered for their impromptu meeting, although he hadn’t been able ascertain what they were saying, or who among them was their leader.  Arthur didn’t really suspect they would plot violence out in the open, but before dinner he had asked Sir Leon to find out as much as he could.

Having promised (under duress, but Arthur was a man of his word) that he would respect the Druids, Arthur had been loathe to take any formal action against this ragged lot.  However, three days of dawn awakenings was three days too many.  It was time to go talk to Sir Leon.

***

The sun was out and the air was clear on this late April morning, but Arthur ate his breakfast with the windows closed and the drapes pulled shut.  This muted the noise below enough that Arthur couldn’t make out the insults presumably being hurled at him.  He had the latest reports about spring flooding in front of him while he ate, but that was mainly to keep his manservant, George, from launching into his customary morning commentary about the weather, and about his wardrobe suggestions for the many different engagements Arthur had that day.  Arthur had seen the inventory of his clothing that George maintained, which was broken into categories by season, function, and color.  George had organized it all on a sheaf of gridded paper, which he referred to as a ‘spreadsheet.’  It was terrifying.

“All right then, George.  I have an early training this morning.  See that lunch is ready at noon, since there’s a council meeting at one.”  Arthur rose and moved decisively to the door, exiting before George could brush him down again.

Normally a trip to the armory involved a quick walk across the courtyard.  Given the Druid encampment, however, Arthur found himself taking a longer route around the perimeter of the courtyard, keeping to the portico that ran along the western wall of the citadel.  He told himself that it was prudence, not evasion, that kept him from making eye contact with any of the protesters, though it was unlikely many of these peasants from the outlying villages even knew what he looked like.  He needed a plan to address this situation before it escalated any further.  Caerleon’s delegation would be arriving soon to discuss the border dispute between them.  Having an unsightly group of peasants camped in his courtyard would not make the right impression.

After wending his way around the courtyard Arthur found Leon in the armory, lovingly attending to the weapons in preparation for that morning’s training.

“Good morning, sire.”

“Good morning, Leon.  So, what have you learned about our visitors?”

Leon put down the crossbow he had been oiling, and picked up a set of papers to make his report.  “As you noted, sire, there are presently twenty two Druids and fellow-travelers who have set up camp in the courtyard.  I observed them from late afternoon until dark.  They made no effort to conceal their activities from me, and much of their discussion was quite loud.  I counted five females, the youngest perhaps fourteen years of age and the oldest a crone of perhaps forty-five.  The youngest male is a lad of about ten or so, and the oldest no more than thirty.  I did not observe magic being used, but I suspect that there are magic users among this group.

“They seem to function as a collective.  At suppertime I witnessed the entire group sharing a pot of soup and a loaf of bread.  When they retired for the night, one of the older men directed newcomers to the tents.  I could not identify any one of them as their leader.  The meeting you witnessed yesterday afternoon was, in all likelihood, a discussion regarding the chore rota for the evening.  Given what I overheard around dinner time, I believe that one of the young men didn't think it was his turn to do the washing up.”

“They were assigning duties the entire time?”

“Not the entire time, sire.  Later in the evening I believe there was also some discussion of their ‘mission statement.’”

Arthur looked at him sharply.  A knight of Leon’s experience should know to report the most important facts first.  “So they do have a mission!  What is their quest, Sir Leon?  Whatever it is, given the amount of time they have spent in discussion it must be of grave importance.”

Sir Leon hastened to explain.  “Not a ‘mission,’ sire.  A ‘mission statement.’  I am given to believe it is a document drafted by an organization to explain its goals and purpose.”

“A set of demands, then!”  Arthur grew impatient with this hair-splitting.

“No, sire.  I don’t believe that a mission statement is used in that fashion.  Sir Lamorak tells me it is in the Roman tradition -- a way for a group to coalesce and clarify for itself what it hopes to accomplish.  I believe some of what the Druids were engaged in last evening is what Sir Lamorak called a ‘team building exercise’ to foster trust and cohesiveness.  It’s not dissimilar to some of what we do in training, sire.  Do you recall when Sir Lancelot had us each take turns closing our eyes and falling backwards into the arms of the other knights?”  Arthur’s eyebrows crept steadily up his forehead.  He remembered that exercise quite well, particularly because he hadn’t been able to allow Sir Geraint to catch him.  Try as he might, he kept putting one foot back to keep himself from falling.  “After the Druids finished their discussion of the mission statement, they divided into pairs.  One member of each pair was blindfolded, and then was led on a walk around the courtyard by the other member of the pair.  Then they switched places.”

Leon continued.  “In any event, if I followed the conversation correctly, the last order of business before our visitors retired for the night was a debate as to whether they were to be called The United Front of the Druid Peoples of the Five Kingdoms, The Camelot People’s Front, or Occupy Camelot.  I believe there was another choice as well, but the name escapes me now.”

Arthur snorted.  “What did they decide on?”

“The meeting came to a close before the matter was decided, sire.  It appeared that two of the men discussing the question were about to come to blows.  I believe that the final vote is now on the agenda for the meeting of the committee of the whole to be held this afternoon.”

“I can hardly believe we’re supposed to be negotiating peace with this lot.  Seems they can barely keep peace among themselves.”

Leon grunted his agreement as he began removing practice weapons from the rack.

“So you are confident that our visitors are not plotting violence?”

“I am, sire.  The preamble to the draft mission statement that I heard read aloud last night began with a ‘whereas’ clause foreswearing violence as a means of effectuating change.”

“Very well, Sir Leon.  Thank you for your report.”  Arthur picked up his training sword and shield, and moved to the doorway.  “When we spoke earlier this week we agreed that there was no call for a show of force.”

“That is correct, sire.”

“And I presume nothing you observed last night changes that conclusion?”

“That is correct, sire.”

“Well, as I am sure has not escaped your notice, this group has only grown larger, and louder.”  Leon grimaced as he adjusted his vambrace.  Come to think of it, Arthur didn’t often find him quite this early for training.  Sections of the knights’ quarters looked out on the main courtyard as well.  Arthur continued.  “I plan to consult the council this afternoon, and I would like you to be there to discuss whatever peaceful means we may have at our disposal for dispersing this crowd.”

“Yes, sire.”

***

Truly, it was a beautiful morning and Arthur found that a vigorous training session in the clear spring air did wonders for his frame of mind.  After a few hours he left the knights to continue without him while he prepared for lunch and the council meeting.

Re-entering the courtyard, Arthur chastised himself for his earlier cowardice, and strode directly toward the main stairway, determined to walk right past the Druid encampment and not spare them a glance.  The Druids’ tents were clustered toward one end of the fenced in area.  At the other end, closest to the main stairway and the statue of King Brute, was an open space defined by some rough blankets that had been spread on the cobblestones.  This was where the Druids gathered for their meetings, and for the organized shouting they engaged in at all hours of the day and night.

Arthur walked along the back side of the encampment, away from most of the foot traffic that ran alongside the portico.  As he went by, he saw that nearly all of the Druids had gathered on the blankets and there was some sort of activity taking place.  At first, he thought it was a scuffle between two of the young men camped there, but as he got closer he saw it was more like a performance, if a rather puzzling one.  Despite his decision a moment ago to ignore the goings-on, curiosity got the better of him.  Arthur paused, about fifteen paces from the action.  One of the young men was on the ground, on elbows and knees, his head hung low.  The other, a bit heavier than the first, appeared to be kicking him repeatedly on the arse.  A few steps closer and Arthur could see that the young man on the ground had pinned what looked like a paper archery target to the seat of his breeches, with the bull’s eye centered on the crease of his bottom.  The young man pretending to kick him was wearing a bit of crockery on his head, and a blanket around his shoulders.

“No, no!  King Arthur!  Don’t kick me again!” wailed the skinny man on the ground.  Arthur stiffened at the sound of his name, realizing immediately what the tableau in front of him was supposed to represent.

“Filthy sorcerer!  I’ll kick you all I want.  I’m the King!”  And here, the second man mimed another forceful kick to the backside of the man on the ground, who moaned and groaned loudly, but also appeared to wiggle his arse and offer it up a little higher for yet another kick.  When the man on the ground moaned again, Arthur couldn’t help but wonder whether he was actually enjoying displaying himself in this way.  Then the man on the ground splayed himself out even further, with his cheek pressed to the cobblestones.  As he did, his tunic rode up, exposing the pale skin of his lower back.

Next, a girl in a torn dress stepped forward and addressed the man with the blanket around his shoulders.  “But your highness, didn’t you give your word that you would treat the Druids with the respect they deserve?”

The man with the blanket sneered at her, and mimed a backhand to her face.  Despite the fact that she was clearly standing well beyond his reach, she clutched her jaw and dropped to the ground screaming.  The man with the blanket resumed pretending to kick the man on the ground, saying “This _is_ the respect the Druids deserve.”

Arthur felt his face redden, torn between outrage at the insult and shock that this was what some of his subjects thought of him.  Another few Druids watching from inside the enclosure stood to get in on the act, but before they could continue the charade, Arthur stepped to the edge of the enclosure and spoke, addressing the man dressed as “King Arthur.”

“What is the meaning of this?”

The Druids looked at him, apparently surprised to have an audience other than themselves.

“What’s it to you?” said the man with the blanket on his shoulders, stepping up to the rail of the fence framing the enclosure.

Arthur summoned his haughtiest look.  Who was this peasant to challenge him?  Whether the peasant recognized him as the King or not, Arthur was still quite clearly a Knight of Camelot and deserving of respect.  “Your King is a man of his word, and he would never strike a defenseless woman.”

“Right, then.  But he still hasn’t made peace with the Druids or legalized magic, has he?”  The peasant king, ruddy faced and practically snarling, hadn’t backed down.  The broken flowerpot on his head had slipped a bit to the side, making him look more like a drunkard than anything else.  The small group of merchants and courtiers who had been watching from a distance slunk away, wanting to remove themselves as quickly as possible from any talk of magic.

Arthur spluttered for a moment, nearly launching into an explanation as to why his diplomatic overtures to the Druids hadn’t yet been successful, but before he could say anything the peasant king continued, raising his voice to address the assembled Druids.

“Where is our noble King Arthur, anyway?  Doesn’t he want to hear us out?  Or can’t he be arsed to find out why we’re here?”  A few sentries noticed Arthur and began making their way over at the sound of the peasant king’s raised voice, but Arthur subtly waved them off.

Arthur was quite ready to declare himself when the skinny man on the ground stood and placed his hand on the peasant king’s arm.  He spoke quietly to the peasant king, but he looked right at Arthur and held his gaze firmly.  Without either of them saying anything, Arthur understood that the skinny man knew who he really was, but he seemed content to keep that knowledge to himself, and for that Arthur was surprisingly grateful.

“That’s enough, Will.  Remember we’re here peacefully.”

Then they turned away from him, and Arthur watched as a long-haired, bearded man put down his lute.  “Come here, Merlin, let me get this thing off you.”  Merlin, the skinny man, allowed himself to be turned as the bearded man removed the target from his breeches.  The bearded man loosened the pins carefully, but then goosed Merlin’s arse.  Merlin swatted at the bearded man, shouting “Gwaine, you wanker.”  Arthur noted that Merlin’s whole face lit up when he smiled, and that although Merlin had seemed rather funny looking at first glance, his smile was unusually appealing.

There was some squawking and laughing and shoving, and Merlin and his friends seemed to forget about Arthur entirely.  Arthur wished for a moment that Merlin’s smile had been meant for him, and then he went inside.

***

Lunch was enough to make Arthur nostalgic for the days when he took his meals with his father and Morgana.  At least then there had been someone to share the mountain of food that George always presented, and the chance for some innocent flirtation with Guinevere while she attended Morgana.  Nowadays, he could sometimes convince Leon, or maybe Gaius, to dine with him, and perhaps engage in a bit of diverting banter, but not today.  Instead, Arthur sat alone at the head of the table, in what he still thought of as Uther’s place, staring down platters of roasted fowl, venison, potatoes, greens, and an alarming quantity of grapes, while he contemplated the situation.  The council was meeting in less than an hour, and while Arthur wanted those Druids out as much as anyone, he was determined to prove that he was a man of his word, and he wouldn’t see any of them harmed.

He rose from the table and walked over to the window to look again at the camp below, which had gone uncharacteristically quiet.  The Druids were clustered around the fire, clutching their bowls as one of the younger men ladled out soup and another distributed small hunks of bread.  Arthur watched as the bearded man, Gwaine, produced a bit of cheese from his bag, which he shared among his neighbors, saving the largest piece for a dark haired boy sitting next to Merlin.  And again, Arthur saw Merlin smile and laugh with his companions, as he ruffled the hair of the boy next to him.

Despite the meagerness of the Druids’ meal, Arthur found himself wishing for that kind of camaraderie for himself.  Not so long ago, Arthur had friends and loved ones to share his table, if not his bed.  He spent whole mornings training with his knights and he knew that they were not just his men but his brothers.  And when he dined with Uther, they spoke about matters of state, but Uther was not just Arthur’s king -- he was Arthur’s father as well.  Now that Arthur was king, so much had been taken from him.  Not only his father, of course, but also the joys of companionship.  Gaius was no longer a kindly grandfather figure, but a senior advisor.  Leon was no longer his mentor among the knights, but his second in command.  Morgana was no longer his sister, but his emissary.  Even Guinevere, who he had wanted at one time for his wife, had only stayed with him because she thought he needed her as his queen.  It had taken some time to resolve that, but Arthur recognized now that she was much better off with Lancelot.  Lately, it seemed the least complicated relationship in his life was the one he had with George.

“George.”

“Yes, sire.”

“I’m finished here.  See that this food is brought down to the Druid encampment.”

“Sire?”

“You heard me.  Camelot’s servants are well provided for, and I won’t see all this good food go to waste.  Bring it downstairs.  For that matter, see that any remaining food from the castle’s functions is given to the Druids in the courtyard.”

“As you wish, sire.”

Arthur hoped the Druids had enjoyed their lunch more than he had his.

***

Almost as if on cue, the shouting and drumming from the courtyard started again just as Arthur was calling the council to order.

“What do we want?!”

“MAGIC!”

“When do we want it?!”

“NOW!”

“What do we want?!”

“MAGIC!”

“When do we want it?!”

“NOW!”

And, absurdly, like a bunch of children following a piper through the streets, the greybeards of the council were up out of their seats in an instant, clamoring for space at the council chamber windows, which looked directly down on the Druid encampment.  As if they’d never heard shouting before, Arthur thought.

He sat for a minute, wishing to maintain his dignity, but soon enough he was pulling back the curtain as well to observe the scene.  Will, the peasant king from earlier, was standing on a wooden crate at the edge of the tent city, near where the earlier performance had taken place.  He was shouting the question through a large funnel, which had the effect of focusing and amplifying his voice.  Meanwhile, marching in a circle in front of him were another dozen or so Druids and peasants, shouting back their answer while banging on drums and pots and whatever else they could get their hands on.  Arthur recognized the man called Gwaine, the girl in the torn dress, and of course the man called Merlin.  Studying Merlin from a distance now, Arthur concluded that he wasn’t funny looking at all.

The group appeared to have grown since the morning.  In addition to the dozen or so marching, there were perhaps another twenty clustered around the edges, shouting and pumping their fists in the air.  If Arthur wasn’t mistaken, a few of them were his own kitchen servants.

The council members standing at the window must have caught the attention of the group down below, because on Will’s signal a group of the men lined up in a row, turned their backs, bent over, and dropped their breeches, baring their naked arses to the councilors above.  Just as quickly they pulled up their pants and resumed their chanting.  A moment later Arthur saw Gwaine gesturing to Merlin, and then both of them were looking up -- apparently right at Arthur.  Arthur quickly let the curtain fall closed, but not before making eye contact with Merlin.  And again, Arthur felt a sense of recognition pass between them.

“What on earth was that?” Arthur asked.

“It’s another Roman custom, sire,” Leon responded.  “They call it ‘mooning.’  I do beg your pardon, but I believe it’s intended as an expression of contempt.”

“Looks like a good way to get an arrow in your arse.”  Arthur took his seat and waited for the rest of the council to finish tittering.  After a couple of dozen repetitions of this “what do we want” catechism, and once the council members had satisfied themselves that the rabble below wasn’t going to start answering anything new, order was finally restored.

The council meeting was predictably inconclusive.  Although there were many items on the agenda, including the sorry state of the main road after the rains last month, the only thing that held anyone’s attention was the ruckus going on below.  After much discussion, and despite Arthur’s misgivings, the council advised that Arthur should not enter into direct discussions with the Druids.  It simply wouldn't do for the King of Camelot to be summoned by a band of malcontents to a parley in his own front yard.  Let them first seek an audience before the throne.

As for the camp itself, Sir Leon proposed that the castle guards require its removal under the local Camelot ordinances prohibiting excessive noise, and the creation of a public nuisance, and for violations of various provisions of the sanitation code -- primarily those related to the proper disposal of human waste.

Arthur was delighted.  He had promised the Druid spirit who had possessed Sir Elyan that he would treat the Druids with respect, but he needed them out of his courtyard yesterday.  Sir Leon, in his role as public safety officer, could evict them under this authority, and it would not appear that Arthur was putting down a peaceful gathering.

“That’s brilliant, Sir Leon.  Monmouth, I’d like you to draft a decree immediately, citing the ordinances Sir Leon can rely on for the orderly removal of the Druid camp.  We can post the decree in the courtyard, and at the gates.  Clearly the people of Camelot -- even those who sympathize with the Druids’ cause -- will recognize that we can’t permit the contamination of the local water supply or encourage rat infestation.  And I imagine many of them would be glad for a good lie in,” he added under his breath.

Geoffrey of Monmouth peeked out over the enormous book of Camelot ordinances that he was consulting.  “If I may, sire, I’m afraid it’s not quite so simple.  Although the public safety ordinances drafted during your father’s reign are comprehensive, they are still superseded by your claim to the citadel as crown land.”  Monmouth went on to explain the often forgotten fact that although the courtyard functioned as a sort of public square, it was contained within the walls of the citadel, and therefore it was considered the private property of the king.

“One moment, Monmouth,” Arthur said.  “Do you mean to tell me that our public ordinances and sanitation code don’t apply to the castle itself?”

“Yes, your majesty,” said Monmouth, “that is precisely what I am saying.  This castle is your home, sire, and who and what you choose to permit on the premises is within your sole discretion.  The public safety officer could no more evict the Druids from your courtyard than he could your noble guests from their quarters.  They are here on your sufferance alone.”

Well, wasn’t that perfect?  Apparently, having allowed them to enter the citadel in the first place, these Druids were now Arthur’s guests, until such time as they chose to go home.  It was going to be up to Arthur to convince them to leave.

***

George was waiting for Arthur just outside the council chambers at the conclusion of the meeting.  He informed Arthur that there was a visitor attending him in his chambers, and that the matter was urgent.  Arthur hurried back to his rooms, hoping this was the message he had been waiting for.

“Lancelot!  What news do you have from Morgana?”

“Greetings, sire.  I have just returned from the forest of Ascetir, where I have left the Lady Morgana and Guinevere in the care of the Druid elder, Iseldir.”

Arthur looked at Lancelot with some alarm.  Arthur would have preferred to have sent a larger party to treat with the Druids, but Morgana had refused, arguing persuasively that the Druids would not speak to her if she were accompanied by a retinue of knights.  Only Guinevere and Lancelot had gone with her, and the three of them had been gone for months, having sent only a few brief and uninformative messages until now.

Lancelot recognized Arthur’s expression.  “Please sire, let me finish.  We have been in Iseldir’s company since the thaw, and I have every reason to believe that he is a friend to Camelot.  The Lady Morgana is convinced that he can lead us to Emrys.”

Emrys.  Arthur had promised to make peace with the Druids nearly a year ago, but had been thwarted by his inability to locate a leader who would negotiate with him.  He had sent emissaries into the forests a dozen times, but on those few occasions when a small party of Camelot’s knights had come close to a Druid camp, the Druids had fled.  Not even Sir Leon, who had had peaceful congress with the Druids before, had been successful.  And, much as it pained him, Arthur knew that his own presence would not be welcome among the Druids.  Not yet, anyway.

Arthur had been at a loss as to how to proceed, when Gaius and Morgana had approached him after council about six months ago.  It had hurt Arthur to learn of the secret that Morgana had kept from him all these years, and he was skeptical at first of what she claimed to have seen in her dreams.  However, Gaius spoke authoritatively about how significant Emrys was to the Druids.  Gaius wasn’t sure, but he thought Emrys could act as a representative.  Arthur understood that if he could find Emrys, as Morgana was sure she could, then Camelot could finally make peace with the Druids.

And so, feeling that he had very little choice in the matter, Arthur had permitted Morgana to undertake this secret diplomatic mission.  As far as the rest of the court was concerned, she was taking a rest cure at the ancestral home of her mother, which was very near the ocean.  Arthur, Guinevere, Gaius and Lancelot were the only ones who knew Morgana’s secret, or her whereabouts.

“Why have you returned alone, Sir Lancelot?”

“I can explain, sire.”

***

Arthur had had several other engagements that afternoon and evening, so it was well past midnight when he finished debriefing Lancelot.  He still didn’t like the idea of leaving Morgana and Guinevere alone among the Druids, but he knew that Lancelot would never risk Guinevere’s safety -- or Morgana’s for that matter.  And Lancelot’s news had been too important to entrust to a messenger or to delay delivering until a more convenient time.  But once his message was conveyed, Lancelot had departed as quickly and stealthily as he had arrived.  And now, of course, Arthur was plagued by questions.

According to Lancelot, Morgana had learned from the Druids that Emrys was going to set a trial for Arthur.  What did that mean?  Morgana didn’t know.  What form would the trial take?  When would it happen?  Was there anything Arthur could do to defend himself?  Although he and Lancelot had spoken for over an hour, Arthur didn’t have the answers to any of these questions.

Arthur was still pondering the implications of Lancelot’s message as he readied himself for bed.  He snuffed the last of the candles, but before retiring he took one last look at the tent city below.  Noticing movement on the perimeter of the camp, Arthur didn’t hesitate.  He grabbed his sword, donned his hooded blue cloak, and went down to the courtyard to investigate.

By the time Arthur made it downstairs, the Druid camp was quiet again.  Using the finely-honed instincts that made him Camelot’s most skilled hunter, he headed to the gate at the south of the citadel, and was dismayed to find the portcullis open.  Noting the drowsing sentry in the guard box, Arthur proceeded through the outer gates and toward the woods, keeping close to the citadel’s walls and listening carefully for any movement or voices around him.  Half expecting to stumble upon a clandestine meeting of Camelot’s enemies, or even a sign of Emrys himself, Arthur was honestly disappointed when he heard a noise just ahead of him and saw his quarry emerge from the public privies that bordered the woods.  He caught up to the Druid in a few long strides.

“What are you doing out here?  Don’t you know it’s past curfew?”  Arthur came up behind the young man and grabbed him by the collar to detain him.

“It’s pretty obvious what I’m doing, isn’t it?  I had to pee.”  The young man shrugged his shoulders, trying to get free, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was in the custody of the king himself.  He struggled ineffectually in this way until they were past the sentry box and back under the archway of the southern gate, where there were torches mounted in sconces.  Here Arthur adjusted his grip on the man’s collar to get a good look at him.

“Oh, it’s you.”  It was Merlin.  Of course, Arthur thought to himself, not even surprised that he had encountered one of the few protesters whose name he actually knew.  “I saw you today.  With your arse in the air.  Twice.”  Arthur waved his hand in the direction of Merlin’s back side, and was mortified to realize he was blushing.  He hoped it wasn’t visible in the torchlight.

“Yes, I remember.”  Merlin seemed completely unashamed.  He held out his hand.  “I’m Merlin.”

“Yes, I remember,” Arthur echoed.  Merlin looked surprised, but then smiled brightly when he saw that Arthur was smiling too, and extending his hand.

“I’m Arthur Pendragon.”

“I know.”

“Yes, I thought you might.  Why didn’t you say anything this morning?”

“Hmph.  Well, he’s my best mate but let’s just say that Will still has a lot to learn about nonviolent protest.  I didn’t want any trouble.”  Merlin paused for a moment, perhaps considering whether to continue.  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Much the same reason, I suppose.  I saw no reason to get the guards involved.”  Arthur thought most of the castle guards were brutes and half-wits, but he wasn’t about to tell Merlin that.

“Thank you for that.”

Arthur was at a bit of a loss.  It seemed odd to him to be conversing so familiarly with this strange young man, but also impossible not to respond to his directness.  Nevertheless, he felt obliged to pursue his investigation.  “What were you doing outside the gates at this hour?  And how did you get out?  That gate was closed earlier.”

“I needed to pee.  There’s nowhere to go in the courtyard.”  Merlin looked down sheepishly.  “I mean, yes, there’s a pot for the camp, but it makes too much noise and I’m always sure I’m going to wake everyone.  And, I … um … I just don’t like using the pot like that with loads of people around, even if they’re supposed to be asleep.”  Merlin halted abruptly, recognizing he had already said too much.

Pee shy, then.  Arthur could sympathize with that.  His first campaign when he was sixteen had been agony.  Merlin looked nervous, but Arthur thought about his story and saw that it was plausible.  Merlin hadn’t been gone for very long when Arthur caught up to him, and he had come straight out of the privy.  Still, the lack of facilities in the courtyard proper didn’t ordinarily prevent visitors from relieving themselves in some of the less trafficked alcoves.  Arthur himself avoided the landing at the base of the stairway of the eastern tower at all costs; it operated as a de facto urinal for the night sentries.

“Well, next time you won’t be so lucky to find the gate unlocked.”

“Or to find such an understanding guard,” Merlin added, smiling again.

“Quite.”  Arthur found he couldn’t look too long on Merlin’s smiling face, or he would soon be smiling like an idiot himself.  He began walking back toward the tent city, gesturing over to the east.  “The sentries relieve themselves at the bottom of that stairway after curfew.  Next time, go there -- it’s actually quite private.  You really can’t be outside the gates after the last bell.”

Arthur had lowered his voice as they neared the Druids’ tents.  Now, he found himself smiling again as Merlin excused himself.

Arthur turned to go back to the castle, but paused after a few paces.  “Merlin, wait.  This morning, in the courtyard, how did you know who I was?”

Merlin was only a dozen feet away, but already his face was obscured in the darkness.  “Oh, Arthur.  I would have known you anywhere.”

***

Over the next few days it seemed that every time Arthur had to cross the courtyard, the Druids were ready for him.  It had started that first afternoon, when Arthur left Sir Lancelot back in his chambers.  They must have been keeping watch, because he was barely halfway down the stairs at the castle entrance when he heard a man shout, “KING ARTHUR!”  Arthur startled at the sound of his name, concerned for a moment that he was under attack.  But then the assembled crowd answered “No sire!  Throws the witches on the pyre!”

“KING ARTHUR!”  It was Will again, with the funnel at his mouth, leading the chant.

“No sire!  Throws the witches on the pyre!”

The shouting went on, at ear splitting volume, for Arthur’s entire walk across the courtyard and for several moments after he exited through the main gate.  Arthur chafed at the injustice of this.  Although he recognized, with regret, that he had been responsible for Druid deaths while under his father’s command, he himself had never ordered the execution of a sorcerer.  Nevertheless, Arthur prided himself on his carriage, and gave no outward sign that he heard the Druids shouting.

After that, it became a contest of wills.  Of course, Arthur wouldn’t admit that.  He would say that until the Druids showed him the respect he was due as their sovereign by requesting an audience, he would not speak to them, or even acknowledge that he had heard their catcalls.  As for the Druids, they became even more brazen in seeking his attention.

Maintaining the silent treatment proved more difficult than Arthur had anticipated.  The next morning, after his late night conversation with Merlin, Arthur and Leon crossed the courtyard together.  As they came down the steps, Arthur spotted the youngest Druid lad, squatting behind a barrel and keeping watch on the main castle entrance.  At his signal, the Druids left off eating breakfast and began shouting immediately.  “The Druids, united, will never be defeated!  The Druids, united, will never be defeated!”

“That sounds rather belligerent, doesn’t it?”  Arthur was frankly surprised at the confrontational tone.  He had been expecting more insults to his own character.

“Perhaps, sire.  However, I think it is meant more as an expression of the group’s solidarity and its commitment to this demonstration.  I don’t believe it’s meant as a battle cry.”  Leon had to raise his voice slightly as they passed alongside the encampment.

“I suppose that’s a relief, although they hardly seem capable of inflicting much damage.”  Arthur glanced at the protesters, most of whom appeared underfed.  Arthur was amused to see a few of them eating oranges and crescent rolls -– the same thing he had had for breakfast -- in between shouting with their mouths full.  Once again his eyes came to rest on Merlin, who lifted a sausage in mock salute and smiled at him through his shouting.  Arthur managed not to smile in return, but it was a near thing.

“Oi!”  It was Will, standing next to Gwaine, trying to catch Arthur’s attention as he and Leon walked past.  This was unacceptable.

“I said ‘oi,’ King Arthur, your royal highness, sire.”  Will’s voice was positively dripping with sarcasm.

“Are you talking to the King?”  Leon’s tone was polite, barely, but his right hand strayed to the hilt of his sword.

“What’s the matter, doesn’t he speak for himself?”

Arthur put his hand on Leon’s elbow as he answered Will.  “You can’t address me like that.”

“Oh I can’t, can’t I?  What?  Do I have to get down on my knees?  You like that, don’t you?”  Will raised his eyebrows and nudged Gwaine.  “You hear that, Gwaine?  It’s just like you said.  He wants us to beg.”  Then he dropped to his knees and threw his arms wide in supplication.  “Oh, good King Arthur, hear the pleas of your humble subjects!”  Will smiled mockingly, looking around at the others in the camp for support. “Can I grovel some more, your most excellent sire?  Lick your royal boots, perhaps?”

“That’s quite enough,” Arthur snapped. “If you wish to have an audience with me, I hear common pleas on the first and third Tuesday of every month.  You may speak with the seneschal to secure an appointment.”  Arthur strode off briskly, with Leon just a step behind him.

***

The Druids were ready when Arthur returned to the castle after training.  Arthur had become inured to shouting and insults, so he found the silence from the Druid camp that greeted him when he stepped into the courtyard thoroughly unnerving.  As he passed in front of the open area of the encampment, another performance began.

It was Will again, wearing the broken flower pot and the blanket around his shoulders, sprawled in a chair with two other young men standing at attention on either side of the chair, holding broomsticks like ceremonial pikes.

“Who seeks audience before me, the great and powerful King Arthur of Camelot?” Will shouted.

“It is I, your majesty, Merlin of Ealdor, a humble representative of The Occupy Camelot Movement.”  Merlin stepped forward out of the small cluster of protesters playing the role of supplicants before the throne.  Arthur took note.  He would have to tell Leon later that their guests had settled on a name for their organization.

“On your knees, miserable peasant!”

Two more young men playing the role of guards pushed down on Merlin’s shoulders, and Merlin dropped to his knees.

“Oh, please, King Arthur.  I come to seek peace with Camelot and to secure the rights of the Druids.”  Merlin spoke directly to Arthur as he began to walk on his knees slowly to the chair where Will was sitting.  When he was still prince, Arthur had seen countless peasants on their knees before his father and he had always found the whole show rather embarrassing.  Yes, Uther could be intimidating, but Arthur knew that he put his breeches on one leg at a time like anyone else and always felt a bit sorry for the commoners who had to pretend otherwise.  Now, though, as he watched Merlin shuffling on his knees, he found the spectacle of submission to royalty oddly affecting.

“That’s right pretty peasant boy. Come and plead your case.”

Something in Will’s tone of voice caught Arthur’s attention and he glanced back to the makeshift throne.  Good God!  What was that?  Did Will have his cock out?  It was hard to tell from this distance, but that was certainly what it looked like.  Then he saw the open flap of Will’s trousers, and his hand moving up and down in a stroking motion, and there was no question.  Arthur was speechless with shock.

And there was Merlin, on his knees before the throne, gazing down hungrily into Will’s lap.  Arthur could hardly bear to look, but couldn’t bear to look away either.  Will was stroking languidly, and Arthur could see that his cock was a mottled brownish red, long and thick and meaty. What was Merlin going to do?

“Suck me, peasant.  If you want something from me, you’re going to have to service your king.”

Would Merlin really do that?  Here?  Is this what peasants thought happened in the throne room?  Arthur gave a moment’s thought to the laws regarding public decency, then remembered what Monmouth had told him about the courtyard being Arthur’s private property.  The only person who could stop this was Arthur himself, and he would have to do it now.

Heaven help him, but Arthur couldn’t do it.  He merely gaped as Merlin licked his lips and lowered his head, looking up at the last moment to murmur, “As you wish.”

Arthur had never seen anything like this.  Merlin’s lips closed around Will’s cock, and Will’s hands were on the back of Merlin’s head, fisting his hair and pulling him down.  And then dragging him back up again, and pushing him down, all the while saying “take that royal cock, you slut” and “you know you want it you little pricktease” and “oh Gods, your lips” and all manner of filthy things that made Arthur blush painfully at the implication that he himself would ever demand such service from a supplicant, and the realization that yes, if it were Merlin on his knees before him, he would want nothing more.

And then Merlin was struggling, choking, his arms flailing at his sides as Will fucked his mouth deeply with that enormous cock.

And Arthur, horrified, fascinated, was rooted to the spot, feeling the heat of shame and arousal color his face and tighten his breeches.

Until suddenly, Merlin’s jaws clamped shut, and Will yelled, and then, oh God, Merlin spat out the end of Will’s cock onto the cobblestones.  And Will was on the ground, hands over his crotch, shouting “Fucking Druid, you bit my cock off!”  Arthur thought he was going to be ill.

And there was Merlin -- laughing? -- and holding what?  A sausage?  Merlin could barely contain himself as he spoke his last lines.

“Let that be a lesson to you, you tyrant!  You cannot force your people to love you.  They may pretend out of fear, but they will only truly respect you if your actions show that you are worthy.”

And with that, Merlin took another bite from the long end of the sausage still in his hand, chewing with gusto.  As the assembled protesters burst into applause, Merlin helped Will up off the ground, then offered him the sausage as well.  Will made a great joke of tonguing and sucking on the bitten off end of the sausage, before tearing into it himself.

Arthur, sick with a mixture of both misery and relief, hurried away, not noticing Merlin’s worried look.

***

Arthur is seated on his throne, naked except for his cloak and crown.  His courtiers and advisers are standing around the perimeter of the throne room.  At Arthur’s signal, the guards throw open the doors and the bailiff announces common pleas.  Two guards drag the first supplicant in from the crowd gathered out in the corridor, strip off his jacket and tunic, and push him to his knees.

At first, Arthur notices dark, unruly hair.  Then, the peasant lifts his head and speaks.  Arthur doesn’t hear a word.  Arthur inclines his head and the guards take the peasant by the elbows and drag him a short distance toward the throne.

Arthur hears his own voice.  “Do you know how to walk on your knees?”

The peasant holds his hands behind his back as if they are bound.  He is slender and ethereal.  As he shuffles forward, his breeches drag and slip low on his hipbones.  By the time the peasant has reached Arthur’s feet, the trail of hair leading down from his navel is exposed and Arthur can see the start of a thicker thatch below.  Then his eyes travel up the peasant’s torso and across his wiry chest to his nipples, now pebbled in the chill of the throne room, and to the dark hair that swirls in the dip of his breastbone.  The peasant’s gaze is unwavering, fixed on Arthur.  And now, all Arthur can see are brilliant blue eyes and full lips, exquisite cheekbones and milky white skin.  Arthur recognizes that the peasant must want something from him, but he doesn’t know what, and he doesn’t care.  Arthur is dimly aware that he is masturbating -- not trying to get off, just enjoying the feeling of teasing his prick while looking at this beautiful boy.  He feels warm.  He notices where the thick wool of his cape rubs against the hair on his thigh, and where the sweat gathers on the backs of his knees and under his sack.  He thumbs the head of his cock, spreading a drop of precome, and pinches his nipple.

The peasant is kneeling but up off his heels now, looking at Arthur’s cock with interest.  This close, Arthur can see the moisture on the peasant’s lips, and the way his too-long hair curls around his ears.  Arthur reaches out, takes the peasant by the back of the neck, tangles his fingers in that thick hair, and urges him forward.  Arthur holds his cock out with his other hand, the shiny head of it nearly brushing the peasant’s cheek.  He can see the peasant’s tongue, darting out to wet his lips as he opens his mouth.

Now it is breakfast time. Arthur is hard.  He awakens to the sound of platters thunking onto his table, and then George opens the drapes.  Arthur stumbles out of bed, reaching for a tunic to cover the erection tenting his sleep hose. He uncovers a platter, heaped with sausages. He’s going to take one with his fingers but just as he’s about to touch it he sees that it’s not a sausage at all. George has brought him a platter of penises.

***

Arthur woke with his hand on his cock, feeling both aroused and repulsed, ashamed of the desires that his sleeping mind had revealed.  Shaking off the remnants of the dream, he sat up and reached for the goblet of water beside his bed.  It was still dark out, probably still the middle of the night, but Arthur knew he would be awake for a few hours before he was ready for his second sleep.  After a quick look out the window at the slumbering Druid encampment, his mind was made up.  He was going for a walk.

Arthur often spent the hours between first and second sleep wandering around the citadel.  Although he knew that many courtiers spent the watch period engaged in quiet study, Arthur was a man of action.  Most nights, he needed a bit of physical activity before he could return to sleep.  And since he didn’t have a partner for bed sport, he walked.  Once he became king and his worries multiplied, he also discovered that his mind worked better when his body was in motion.  He came to rely on these quiet hours because they allowed him the freedom to walk and think without anyone vying for his attention.  The sentries left him alone, as did the other nocturnal wanderers he would occasionally encounter.

If anyone had asked him that night, Arthur would have said he didn’t have a particular destination in mind.  Yet he wasn’t surprised to find himself patrolling the perimeter of the tent city, and then checking the southern gate.  Seeing that it was locked, he ambled (nonchalantly, he thought) around to the east.  And found Merlin fastening his breeches at the base of the tower stairs.

“Do you only ever pee at night?”  Arthur could have kicked himself for saying something so stupid and familiar.  Merlin’s night time habits were hardly his concern.

Merlin startled, but recovered quickly.  “You know I don’t like to go when there are others around.  It’s easier at night.”  Merlin looked at Arthur more closely, no doubt noticing his mussed hair and hastily thrown on clothes.  “What are you doing out and about?”

“Just having a walk, Merlin.  This is my castle, after all.”  Why did this peasant boy bother him so much?  Yes, that little show of his had embarrassed Arthur the day before, but it was hardly the first time Arthur had been publicly humiliated.  He had grown up with Morgana -- there was nothing he didn’t know about humiliation.  And Arthur couldn’t hold Merlin responsible for showing up in his dreams and acting out one of Arthur’s shameful fantasies.  So why was he feeling so hostile?

“But it’s the middle of the night … um … Sire?”  Merlin paused.  “What am I supposed to call you, anyway?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  Arthur the Arrogant?  The Despot of Camelot?  The Tyrant of Tintagel?  I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”  Ah.  That was it.  And again Arthur cursed himself for his own transparency.  He cared what Merlin thought of him.

Merlin had the good grace to look abashed.  “Yeah, about that.”  Arthur raised his eyebrows.  “The thing is, I didn’t write that bit.  Will and I worked on that skit together --”

“That’s not helping, Merlin.”

“No, I suppose not.”  Merlin smiled nervously and looked down.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have called you a tyrant.  Will thought we needed to be more forceful at the end there, but I should have stood my ground.”

Arthur felt the knot in his shoulders release.  “You don’t really think I’m a tyrant.”  It was supposed to be a statement, but came out as more of a question than Arthur would have liked.  Why?  Why, oh why did this boy’s opinion matter so much?

“Well, if you’d asked me two weeks ago on the way to Camelot I would have said for sure that you were.  But now that I’ve spent some time here, no.  I don’t think so.”  Merlin looked ready to say more, but then changed the subject.  “So, why are you out here, really?”

“Bad dream.”  Arthur started walking back toward the tent city, away from the strong smell of urine that permeated the stairs.

“Do you want to talk about it?  My mum always said telling someone about my dream would help settle my mind.”

“Your mum?”  Not that Arthur had given it much thought, but he had always imagined that the Druids lived like a herd in the forest -- not as mothers and sons, fathers and daughters.  He sat down on the stairs leading to the castle entrance, and Merlin sat beside him -- easily, like he belonged there.

“She’s a wise woman, my mum.  I had a lot of bad dreams growing up.  Sometimes if I couldn’t go back to sleep she’d make chamomile tea.”  Arthur remembered waking from bad dreams when he was small too, but no one ever made him tea.

“Does your mum live around here?”  It seemed a strange question to ask, but Arthur wondered if Merlin and his mother lived in the forests of Camelot.  Maybe he had been close by all along.  Maybe Arthur had seen him before, in the lower town.  Perhaps she was here with him in the camp.  And if Arthur was asking questions that meant he wasn’t telling Merlin about his dream.

“No.  I’m from Essetir.  Small village, you probably never heard of it.  Ealdor?”

“I can’t say I have.  Are there Druid enclaves in Essetir, then?  I didn’t realize.”

Merlin snorted.  “Hardly.  It’s just a regular village.  I’m not much of a Druid really.”  Arthur looked at him skeptically.  “Fine.  I’ve been living with the Druids since I was sixteen and my mum said it wasn’t safe to stay in Ealdor any longer.”

“So just since last year, then?”  Arthur smiled, and elbowed Merlin.  And again, Merlin looked surprised to see Arthur smiling at him, though also pleased, Arthur thought.  Did people really find it so unusual for him to smile?

“It’s been a bit longer than that,” Merlin said.

They sat quietly for a few moments, listening to the snuffles and snores coming from the Druid camp just nearby.  The unmistakable sound of piss hitting a chamber pot startled both of them.  Arthur snorted in amusement.

“See what I mean,” Merlin whispered.

“It’s a miracle that didn’t wake the whole castle,” Arthur replied.  Merlin laughed quietly, and they lapsed back into a comfortable silence.

“You know, the funny part is I almost came here.”

“Hmm?”

“When I went to go live with the Druids.  My mum thought maybe I should journey to Camelot instead and apprentice with her uncle, the court physician.  She even wrote to him to see if he would take me.  I’m not sure exactly what happened, but I think they decided I’d be safer with the Druids.”

“You’re a sorcerer.”  Arthur surprised himself with his matter of fact tone.  He should have suspected as much, but it hadn’t occurred to him that someone as hapless as Merlin would have magic.

“Yes.”  Merlin whispered something in an unfamiliar tongue and Arthur saw his eyes flare as a glowing blue orb appeared in the palm of his hand.  Merlin stretched his fingers out a little further and the orb grew larger.  Then, as if encouraging a butterfly to take wing, he flexed his hand and launched the orb so that it hovered in front of them.  Its cool blue light turned Merlin’s skin a ghostly silver.

“Does that frighten you?”  Merlin’s eyes were dark and searching.

“No, Merlin.  Contrary to what your forest friends may think, sparkling fairy lights don’t frighten me.  Balls of flame, man-eating monsters, undead armies -- those things frighten me.”  Arthur stood abruptly, agitated by this line of questioning.  It was true what he had said -- rainbows and butterflies didn’t scare him -- but he had seen what magic could do.

“That’s not what I meant, Arthur.”  Merlin stopped abruptly, no doubt realizing the sharp tone he had just used to address the king.  He seemed to assess Arthur’s reaction, and then his voice softened.  “Never mind the fairy lights.  What about me?  I’m magic.  Does that frighten you?”

“If you were going to kill me, I think you’d have done it by now.”  Arthur knew as soon as he spoke that his answer was a disappointment, both to himself and to Merlin.  “And now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s late, and I should get back to bed.”

“Good night, Arthur.”

***

In the days following his conversation with Sir Lancelot, Arthur puzzled over the message he had received.  There was going to be a trial.  Arthur was to be tested.  He could manage that, couldn’t he?  That had been his whole life so far -- one test after another.  If he wasn’t proving himself on the tournament grounds he was proving himself in battle, or in negotiations, or in the seemingly endless and meaningless campaigns within his own court.  Just last year he had been tested by his own uncle and had had to banish him for fomenting discord and undermining Arthur’s authority.  And for trying to start a war with a neighboring kingdom.  Arthur was always being measured, always at risk of being found wanting.  Emrys’s trial was no different.

And yet it was.  He had no idea, really.  He couldn’t imagine that Emrys would challenge him to a joust, or single combat.  So how would Arthur be assessed?  With no one else to ask, Arthur sought out Gaius.

“Were those Lancelot’s exact words, sire?  A trial?”

As far as Arthur could remember, they were.

“Because I think there’s an important distinction here.  The noble contests you are accustomed to are not actually forms of trial.  I believe that what we are talking about here is not a contest but an ordeal.  You may remember, for example, that in the early days of the Purge those suspected of sorcery were put to trial by water.  The accused were submerged in the stream.  The innocent would sink, and the guilty would float.”

Arthur did vaguely remember witnessing such trials as a young boy, but he wasn’t exactly focused on the legal niceties at the time.  “That hardly seems right.  Wouldn’t the innocent then drown?”

“Yes, sire.  Sometimes they did.  But, at least at first, when the accusation itself wasn’t tantamount to a guilty verdict, those who sank would be rescued, and having passed the trial, the accusation would be lifted.  There was an odd sort of logic to it.  Quite often, those who knew they were guilty would hold their breath in fear.  The air in their lungs caused them to float.  But those who were secure in the knowledge of their own innocence would relax, and because they weren’t holding in air, they would sink.

It would seem logical to me that if Emrys is going to put you to a trial, he would devise an ordeal.”

Arthur spent another ten minutes or so listening to Gaius’s lecture on the common forms of ordeal.  Many of them remained popular in the villages, where there were no kings or magistrates to administer justice more formally.  As Gaius droned on, Arthur’s mind wandered.  Would he be required to walk barefoot over burning hot ploughshares, then have his wounds examined three days later for signs of healing or festering?  Would Emrys demand that he snatch a pebble from the bottom of a kettle of boiling oil?  Or force Arthur to eat a bit of bread that had been blessed to see if he choked?  It all sounded barbaric.  Never mind the distinct possibility that Emrys would devise some previously unheard of magical ordeal for Arthur to endure.

And what exactly was Arthur on trial for?  He had his suspicions, certainly, but Lancelot had said nothing on the subject.

And so it was that two nights later, after first sleep, Arthur found himself at the stream, just a short distance from Camelot’s walls, near the deep pool where he and the knights often cooled themselves after training on hot summer days.  While he wasn’t about to practice immersing his hand in boiling oil, Arthur saw no harm in ascertaining his buoyancy.

Despite the chill, he decided it was wisest to keep his clothes dry, and so he stripped down to his braies on the grassy bank.   Then, without thinking on it too much further, he leaped into the frigid waters of what he knew to be the deepest section of the stream.  Perhaps it was the shock of the cold, or more likely just an instinctual response, but almost immediately Arthur was aware that he had bobbed to the surface.  His first reaction was disappointment in himself.  Even knowing what could be at stake, he seemed unable to overcome his sense of self-preservation.  It was just like that stupid training exercise of Lancelot’s, when he hadn’t been able to trust Geraint to catch him.

But after taking a moment to even out his breathing and adjust to the cold, Arthur decided to try again.  He exhaled slowly, closed his eyes, and ducked down below the water, allowing the weight of his body to take him under.  He had just felt his backside hit the silty bottom of the stream and, pleased with his success, was about swim to the surface when he saw a disturbance in the water above him.  Before he could react further he felt someone behind him, clawing at his shoulder and under his armpit.  Arthur lashed out, surprised, and only just managed to get his head above water to take a breath before facing his attacker.

“Arthur!  Arthur!  Are you all right?”  Merlin.  Of course.  Who else would be out of the citadel at this hour, and calling him by his given name?  “God, I thought you were drowning.”  Merlin was still fully clothed, standing now in the waist high water and thumping Arthur on the back.

“Drowning?  What are you talking about?  I can swim perfectly well.”

“Well it certainly didn’t look that way.  You sank like a stone.”

“Yes, I did, didn’t I?”  Arthur ignored Merlin’s puzzled expression.  He caught Merlin’s wrist and began pulling him towards the bank.  Merlin wasn’t even out of the water and he was already shivering.  “Never mind.  What are you doing out after curfew again?”

“Saving your life?”  They had both made it to the shallow edge of the stream and Arthur, who wasn’t weighed down by wet clothes, gave Merlin a hand up on to the grass.  “You’re really asking me that?  Unbelievable.”

Seeing that Arthur intended him to continue, Merlin explained.  “I had to go pee, and I saw someone leave through the main gates.  I remembered what you had said the first time, about curfew, and I didn’t want anyone to get in trouble, so I followed.”  Arthur used his hands to sweep the water off his body, suddenly aware that his wet braies were stuck to his body and very likely transparent at this point. Trying hard to contain his embarrassment, he began the awkward process of dressing while still mostly wet.  Merlin smiled as Arthur turned his back to step into his breeches.

“After a moment or two, I realized it was you, and I thought that perhaps you’d had another bad dream, so I decided to catch up to you.”  Merlin paused here, and Arthur realized that after the way their last conversation had ended, Merlin probably wasn’t sure if Arthur would have wanted his company.  “And then you, um.  You started taking off your clothes, and I thought it would be a bit awkward to approach, so --”

“So you decided to spy on me while I was naked.”  What was it about Merlin that caused Arthur to behave in such a familiar fashion?  Arthur didn’t understand it, but chastised himself again for failing to maintain the proper boundaries.  And now his arms and head were stuck inside his tunic. Merlin had to step in closer to pull the hem past the wet skin on his shoulders.

“I did not!  I was trying to respect your privacy.  I thought maybe you were going for a swim, although God knows why you would in this cold.  But then you went under and you didn’t come up and I didn’t know what to think.”

“Well, I assure you, Merlin, I am perfectly all right.  You, on the other hand, are about to catch your death.”  Arthur had stuck his feet back into his boots and now looked appraisingly at Merlin, whose lips had turned blue. “Let’s go get you dried off.”

“It’s fine.  I’ll just go back to my tent.”  Merlin looked uncomfortable.

“Don’t be ridiculous.  It’s cold, and you’re shivering.  There’s no point in getting your bedroll wet too.  Come with me and I’ll get you some dry clothes.”

“It’s really not necessary.”  Merlin paused.  “I could, um …”  Merlin waved his hands a bit, looking at Arthur sheepishly.

Magic.  He could dry himself with magic.  “For heaven’s sake, don’t stand there freezing on my account!”

Merlin whispered a few foreign words, and Arthur watched as his eyes flared gold. Although Camelot no longer executed anyone for sorcery alone, magic was still illegal and Arthur was not accustomed to seeing these sorts of casual displays.  Unlike the other night, when Merlin’s confession of magic had caught Arthur unawares and left him feeling defensive, tonight Arthur thought the gold in Merlin’s eyes looked beautiful.  And even though his father had been dead these last few years and Arthur was now the king, the feeling of magic around him gave him an illicit thrill.  Never mind the marvel of watching someone dry off instantly.  Where previously there had been sodden clothes hanging off Merlin’s skinny frame, and ridiculous ears jutting out from under his plastered down hair, now Merlin looked positively fluffy, and even warm. Arthur hadn’t been feeling the cold before, but he was now.

“I’m glad you’re all right.  You have a great destiny to fulfill, you know.  But perhaps you should head inside now. Maybe someday you’ll tell me what you were really doing.”

Much to his own surprise, Arthur found that he wished he could tell Merlin what he had been doing, and ask Merlin what he knew of Emrys.  But Merlin had already hurried back into the courtyard, and Arthur went back to bed.

***

Unfortunately, news that the Druids were welcome to Camelot’s table scraps travelled fast.  One week after George had brought down Arthur’s leftover lunch, to the wonder and amazement of the residents of the tent city, the number of tents in the encampment had tripled.  And the pile of garbage that the Druids had dumped at the edge of the lower town now included the bones and gristle of lamb and venison roasts, mounds of citrus peels, and even the occasional nearly whole (if slightly stale) loaf of bread. Or so Sir Leon reported when he updated Arthur on his concerns about public health and sanitation.

“You’ve been inspecting their garbage?” Arthur asked, incredulous.

“Not intentionally, sire.”  Leon flicked a scrap of cooked cabbage off the finger of his glove.  “But this morning the owner of The Rising Sun reported that there had been a pack of dogs foraging in a pile of garbage near the castle walls last night.  I went to investigate, and discovered the unauthorized dump.  They seem to have developed rather discriminating palates.”

“So I gather.”  The oranges had been a gift from a lesser noble who had recently returned from the Holy Land.  Arthur found them entirely too dry and had been more than happy to donate the bottom half of the bushel to the Druids.

“Ordinarily we would fine the violators, but I’m quite certain the Druids don’t have the means to pay.  I presume that debtors’ prison is also out of the question.”

Arthur nodded his agreement.

“Also, sire, residents of the second ward are complaining that the public privies outside the main gate are overflowing, and that some of our visitors are simply defecating in the open.  I fear if the situation continues the sewage will overwhelm the stream there.   Presently the municipal tax supports only a weekly cleaning of the privies.  I doubt the residents of the second ward will want to pay for a more frequent schedule when they are not the ones responsible for the additional waste.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“Well, perhaps we could stop feeding them?”  It was a reasonable suggestion, of course.  God knows his father would have had them all rounded up and executed days ago, while it seems Arthur had succeeded only in giving them a taste for exotic fruit and white bread.  But no, Arthur had vowed to treat the Druids with respect.  Having offered them the food from his own table, he could hardly withdraw it without insult.

“I’m afraid that’s not an option.  Come with me this afternoon, Sir Leon, and we will speak to them about the sanitation situation.”

***

Two days later Arthur rode into the courtyard after a day of hunting.  Once again, the Druids had gathered in the meeting area of their camp.  Once again, Will was in his “King Arthur” costume, but many more of the Druids appeared to be in makeshift costumes as well -- blanket cloaks for the men and hair ribbons for the women.  And they were all holding buckets or pots.  Meanwhile, Merlin was pulling a dung cart around the perimeter of the camp.  Arthur recognized it as the cart Leon had arranged for the Druids to use to clean the privies.

It had been a long and frustrating meeting with the protesters.  Initially, Arthur and Leon had hoped to pull aside one or two of the older men in the camp to come to a quick resolution of the sanitation issue, but every time they attempted conversation within a small group, the Druid participants would simply repeat everything that was said to others standing nearby, and so on down the line, so that ultimately all the camp members heard everything.  And when those standing farthest from the center of the discussion had a question or comment, they simply relayed it back to the closest participants.  In very short order, Arthur and Leon found themselves standing in the center of a crowd forming concentric rings around them, as all the Druids in the camp listened to the conversation.  It was very slow going.  Although, Arthur thought, not that much less efficient than the average council meeting.

Oddly, the inhabitants of the camp seemed to have a much firmer grasp of the hazards posed by garbage than the hazards posed by human waste.  At least in Arthur’s view, the protesters seemed a bit sheepish about having dumped food scraps so close to human habitation, knowing full well it might attract animals.  Leon offered the use of Camelot’s garbage carts and informed them of the location of the municipal dump, the protesters agreed that they would add garbage hauling and rat catching to their work details, and that appeared to be the end of it.  But when Leon raised the issue of overflowing privies and human waste running into the stream, things got ugly.

“What do you mean, ‘corruption of the air?’” Will snarled.  “The only corrupt air I know about is the stench inside that shit box you call a privy.  I’ve been doing my business in the woods my whole life and I’m healthy as a horse.”

“It’s a well understood principle of modern science,” Leon ventured.  “Excrement forms a miasma that breeds illness.  It must be disposed of properly, for the safety of all.”

“There’s no way I’m setting foot in one of those things!”

With that, the rather fragile order they had established collapsed, with Leon vainly trying to educate the protesters -- mostly villagers straight off the farm -- that squatting by the stream was not acceptable behavior in the big city and that if they all did it, they would foul the drinking water and bring on a plague; and the protesters making a variety of sometimes contradictory claims about: the desirability of fresh air while moving one’s bowels; the fact that no one used a privy in the villages but everyone knew that the plagues started in the larger towns; the fact that the public privies were overflowing anyway; and, apparently, the tyranny of a government that would intrude on the most basic bodily functions of its subjects.  Or, as Will put it to anyone who would listen, “Next thing he’s going to tell us how we can fuck.”

To Arthur, the biggest shock was finding out that, in this day and age, the peasants of his own kingdom voided their bowels out in the open, like animals.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have said that out loud.

“Like a bloody animal, you say?  Well, if you shit all over us, Pendragon, you can fucking well be sure we’ll shit all over you too!”

And here, Arthur was quite sure Will was about to strike him, and that he would be forced to defend his person and his honor.  Fortunately, Merlin chose this moment to appear at Arthur’s elbow from the edges of the discussion, where he had retreated as soon as the garbage issue was resolved and the conversation had turned to bodily functions.  He stepped quickly between Arthur and Will.

“If I may, sire.  I think Will and some of the others here are unaccustomed to city living.  While I’m sure your highness visits the countryside often, I presume that if you’re not sleeping, and dare I say defecating, in the open yourself, you’re staying at an inn with a necessary.  But I’m sure you also realize most homes don’t have necessaries.  Many of us do just go in the woods, and I suppose that does put us closer to nature than city people.  It’s really not a health problem in the smaller villages, because there are plenty of wooded areas well away from the drinking water.  But that spot near the privies where we’ve been doing our business outside the gates probably is a bit too close to the stream.

“And, if I may add, for those of us who have been using the privies, it’s true that they’re not terribly well maintained.”

After that, Merlin had grabbed Will by the shirt and dragged him over to the well for a drink of water and a stern talking-to.  Arthur and Leon stood around awkwardly, waiting for them to return so that they could conclude their business.

Eventually they were able to agree that those Druids who refused to use the privies could continue to use the woods outside the main gate, but they would have to stay a furlong from the stream and a furlong from the nearest building in the second ward.  They also agreed that if Camelot would supply a dung cart and permit the night soil to be dumped in the cesspit outside the lower town, the Druids would take over the cleaning of the privies just outside the main gate.  And, because the protesters were taking responsibility even for the weekly cleaning that was funded by the cart tax, as a gesture of good will Arthur offered to remit that cart tax directly to the protesters. To reciprocate, the protesters (well, Merlin anyway) promised to use that remittance to pay off the illegal dumping fine.

The next time Arthur saw Merlin, it was clear that privy cleaning was exactly what he had been doing.  Even from halfway across the courtyard, Arthur could see that Merlin was filthy.

It also appeared that the Druids were demonstrating just what they thought of the arrangement they had agreed to.  Merlin dragged the cart slowly, all the while calling “Dung cart!  Dung cart!  Bring out your dung!”  As he paused before each of the costumed Druids, they upended their pots in the cart, taking little care to avoid splashing Merlin’s boots.

By now, the Druids’ performances were well known among the people of Camelot, and a sizeable crowd had gathered.  Already, Gwaine was passing a hat and flirting with some of the court ladies while he was at it.  Arthur left his mount with one of the squires and made his way closer to the action.  Merlin had nearly finished making the rounds with the dung cart, and he was stopped in front of Will, who was standing at the foot of the main stairway.

“Dung cart!  Dung cart!” Merlin called.

“Over here, dung boy.”  Will smirked and twirled his cape, playing to the crowd.  His chamber pot rested on top of a barrel next to him.

“Yes sire.  Please, sire.  May I have your dung?”  Merlin affected a particularly gormless look with this request, Arthur thought.

“My dung?  Is that all you want, pretty peasant boy?”  Will reached a gloved hand out to stroke Merlin’s cheek, and gave a lascivious wink to the audience.

“I don’t know what you mean, your highness.”  Was Merlin batting his eyelashes?  Arthur felt himself grow warmer.  He had a bad feeling about this.

“Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean, you little cockslut.  I have more to give you than just my dung.”  Then Will grabbed Merlin’s shoulder and spun him around, so that he was braced against the nearby barrel.  He yanked Merlin’s breeches down in one vicious pull, then dropped his own breeches as well.

“It’s a great honor to collect the royal dung, boy.”  Will held Merlin around the waist, and shuffled forward a few steps to press against Merlin’s behind.  They were both wearing long tunics to conceal their private parts, and they both looked ridiculous with their boots still on and their pants around their ankles, but the intent was clear.  Arthur was mortified, but he could tell from the laughter of the people around him that the audience was treating this like a big joke.  A joke at Arthur’s expense, but a joke nonetheless.  Putting a stop to it would only draw attention to his discomfort.

“Yes, your highness.  A great honor.”  Merlin’s voice sounded breathless and low pitched.  Arthur couldn’t help but wonder if this was how Merlin sounded when he was truly aroused.

“And an even greater honor to take the royal cock.”  Will lifted Merlin’s tunic in the back, briefly exposing the curve of his bottom, as he mimed holding his own cock and fitting it to Merlin’s cleft.  Thank God there was no sausage this time.

“Oh, yes, sire, let me have it.”

Will growled in response, and laid into Merlin with vigor.  For the next few minutes, both of them made a great show of panting and grunting, all the while moving their hips energetically in counterpoint.  Will got a huge laugh out of the crowd when he paused mid-fuck to adjust his crown.  And, for a moment, Arthur almost felt like he could laugh at himself, and at the absurdity of watching a King Arthur impersonator pretend to bugger a peasant in the courtyard.  But then the crowd quieted and the mood turned serious, and Arthur wasn’t the only one shifting uncomfortably when Merlin lifted a hand from where it was braced on the barrel so that he could pretend to jerk himself off.

Perhaps it was mistimed, or maybe Merlin wasn’t supposed to get off in this scenario, but all of a sudden Will began loudly exclaiming his pleasure, holding Merlin’s hips still and coming up on his tip toes to drive into him even harder.  The moans and screams were certainly over the top, but the body language was convincing.  Despite his embarrassment, Arthur couldn’t help but imagine how it might feel to drape himself across Merlin’s back like that.  Even played as farce, Arthur found the scene arousing.

But there wasn’t much in the way of afterglow.  Will was looking down and recoiling in horror.

“Filthy peasant!  You shat on my cock!”  And then Will began striking Merlin on the head and shoulders, cursing him and calling him a dirty whore.  Both of them still had their pants down, and so it was a struggle for them to keep their balance during the simulated scuffle.  When Will’s gloved hand accidentally landed in the chamber pot, the crowd roared with laughter again.

“You want the royal dung, boy?  Let me give it to you then.”  Will stepped right up to Merlin, holding up his shit-covered hand, and used his first two fingers to smear excrement on Merlin’s cheeks.  Merlin did nothing, merely lowered his eyes and bowed his head as if he were being anointed.

“What do you say to that, then, sorcerer?  You shit on me, and I will rain shit on you.  That is all you’ll ever get from Camelot -- shit, shit, and more shit!”  Will’s voice grew progressively louder, and as he finished shouting, he picked up the chamber pot and upended it over Merlin’s head, banging on it once for good measure.  Whatever arousal might have been lingering evaporated with the heat of Arthur’s fury.

“Enough!” shouted Arthur, stepping from the crowd and taking a startled Merlin by the elbow.  “This is intolerable.”  Arthur dragged Merlin with him and headed out of the courtyard, pushing through the quickly dispersing crowd, as Merlin struggled with one hand to drag his breeches up and hold them around his waist.  “You’re coming with me,” he said to Merlin through gritted teeth.

Merlin shuffled awkwardly alongside him.  With both of his hands occupied, the only way Merlin could clean his face was by bending down to wipe it against his arm.  Arthur looked at Merlin briefly to see that he was all right, but had to look away again just as quickly when he saw what appeared to be a stream of liquefied excrement slide down Merlin’s neck.   His revulsion clearly showed on his face because Merlin was quick to explain.  “It’s just mud, Arthur.  Will didn’t really dump shit on me.”

They were halfway to the stables at this point, but Arthur relaxed his hold on Merlin’s arm and paused for a moment.  “I knew that,” he said a little too quickly, hoping that Merlin didn’t realize how credulous he had been.  “He didn’t really bugger you either, but that doesn’t make it any better.”

Merlin looked surprised, but didn’t say anything in response.

“You smell terrible.  Come on.”

Once inside the stables, Arthur steered Merlin to the tack room where there was a stack of old blankets and other rags Merlin could use to wipe himself clean.  Paying no heed to Merlin’s protests that he could take care of this himself, Arthur went out the side door to the pump, returning with a bucket of water for Merlin to wash.  However, it took only a few passes with a wet cloth across Merlin’s face to soil the rag completely, and muddy the water.  And now Merlin had more rivulets of muddy water running down his face and under the neck of his tunic.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, you’ll never get clean at this rate.  Come with me.”

Arthur once again took Merlin by the elbow and led him from the stables, all the while wondering where he could go to get Merlin a bath.  There were no tubs in the stables.  Their unexpected meeting a few nights ago had demonstrated that the stream was far too cold. He knew there was a large enough basin in the castle laundry, but it was nearly the end of the day and he doubted there was much hot water left.  And half a dozen laundresses would still be there, folding the dry clothes and banking the fires.  It really wasn’t suitable for bathing.  Gaius had a tub, but it was almost dinner time and Gaius was probably going to eat soon.  Arthur gave a moment’s thought to the servants’ quarters, but realized he had no idea whether the servants even had their own tubs.  Arthur himself allowed George to use his bathwater when he was finished -- provided of course that Arthur wasn’t planning to be in his chambers and didn’t otherwise require George’s services -– but he had no idea how the rest of the castle servants washed.  It seemed the quickest route to a tub full of hot water was Arthur’s own chambers.

As they re-entered the courtyard Arthur waylaid a passing servant.  “You!  Alert my manservant that I require a bath immediately.”

Merlin looked nearly as alarmed as the servant, who ran off ahead.  “What are you doing?  I’m perfectly capable of getting myself cleaned up.”

Arthur chose to ignore Merlin’s indignant tone.  “We really need to work on your grasp of royal protocol, Merlin.  At a minimum, you need to address me as ‘sire,’ and it is hardly your place to question my decisions.”  Arthur paused, but miraculously Merlin had nothing further to say.  “I am taking you to my chambers so that you may bathe.”

From there, the trip to Arthur’s chambers was uneventful.  Arthur supposed that the people they passed wondered what the king was doing escorting a muddy, smelly Druid through the castle, but unlike Merlin, they were all far too subservient to question him.  Arthur thought he might have seen a raised eyebrow on one of the sentries guarding the corridor leading to his chambers, but that might also have been the sentry discreetly trying to adjust his helmet.

Once they were inside the chambers, Arthur directed Merlin into the anteroom where George slept.  He grabbed George’s drying sheet from a peg on the back of the door and thrust it at Merlin.

“Strip off here, and wrap up.  I’ll see about your bath.”

At the back of his chambers, Arthur could see that George was directing a brigade of kitchen boys as they emptied their buckets into the tub.  Arthur’s drying sheet was already warming in front of the fire, and George had removed a selection of scented oils and bathing salts from the cabinet.  George prided himself on his ability to muster a hot bath on a moment’s notice.

“Ah, good evening, sire.  Will you be requiring a calming preparation, or an invigorating one?”  George was poised with the scented oils in hand.

“Neither.  Thank you, George.  However, I do require that you have some clothes washed immediately.  They’re just by the door.”  Arthur gestured behind him.  “Boil them if you have to.”

Just then, Merlin emerged from the anteroom with George’s drying sheet wrapped awkwardly around him, and Arthur was once again grateful for his manservant’s unflinching compliance.  George maintained his usual, stoic demeanor, and after ushering the last of the kitchen boys out, he left Arthur and Merlin alone.

Arthur was almost never alone in his chambers.  Between the chamber maids and the kitchen servants and his manservant -- never mind the knights and other courtiers -- Arthur’s suite of rooms was generally a hive of activity except for the hours when he was actually asleep.  But now here he was, alone with Merlin, who was clutching at the bit of cloth wrapped around his waist and looking around uncertainly.

After a long moment and a faint smile from Merlin, Arthur realized he had been comparing Merlin’s actual naked torso to the version he had seen in his dream.  It appeared that in reality, Merlin had less body hair.  Oh well.  “Right.  The tub is just over here,” Arthur said, striding past his dining table and bed. “Are you warm enough?  I could call George back to stoke the fire.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine.”  Merlin was showing no signs of getting in the bath. In fact, he had walked right up to Arthur and laid a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.  Before Arthur quite knew what was happening, Merlin had leaned in and placed a soft kiss on Arthur’s cheek, then stepped away.

“Thank you, Arthur.  This is wonderful.  I can’t even remember the last time I had a proper bath.”  And then, Merlin simply dropped the bath sheet and stepped into the tub.

Arthur had barely recovered from Merlin’s entirely inappropriate expression of gratitude when he was utterly sideswiped by the sight of his naked body. Arthur would have liked to have thought that his first impulse would have been to look away, but instead his eyes were drawn unerringly to the curve of Merlin’s buttocks, the quick flash of dark hair between his thighs, and the momentary swing of his genitals as he lowered himself into the water with a satisfied groan.

Wait a minute.  Arthur replayed his memory of the last few moments and realized it did not entail any noxious smells or filth.  “What happened to all the mud?”

Merlin lifted his head from where he had tipped it back against the edge of the tub.  “Oh, yeah.  Cleansing spell.  I took care of that before I dirtied your servant’s things.”  Merlin paused and smiled kindly at Arthur, like he was a particularly dense but well-meaning child.  “I told you I could take care of cleaning myself up.”

“Ah.  Quite.”  Arthur mentally kicked himself for not remembering Merlin’s demonstration the other night, when he had dried himself by the stream.  He pretended to busy himself at his desk.  Meanwhile, he could hear the gentle sloshing noises as Merlin soaped up.

“I mean it, though.  This is lovely.  A spell can remove the dirt, but there’s no substitute for hot water.”

“Can’t you just heat the water with magic?”

“Yes, but I’d need a tub to hold the water.  And I can’t just fashion a tub out of thin air -- I’d have to summon one.  That’s just stealing, really.”

Arthur hadn’t ever given it much thought, but he had to admit it made an odd kind of sense.

“Well, why use a tub at all?  Couldn’t you just heat the stream?”

“Kills the fish.”  Merlin looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then returned to soaping between his toes. “I learned that one the hard way.”

Merlin had finished washing and had just settled back for a soak when Arthur finally gave voice to what had been bothering him from the moment he put an end to Merlin and Will’s performance.

“Why did you do that, Merlin?  What was the point?”  Arthur wished he didn’t sound so distraught.

Merlin looked surprised.

“Was I unfair?  Is there something wrong with asking you to clean up after yourselves?”

“It’s theater, Arthur.  Surely you understand we’re not trying to be literal.”

Of course Arthur understood that, but it still hurt.  And considering the soft look Merlin gave him, Arthur’s bruised feelings probably showed on his face.

“It’s symbolic, not personal.  The Druids have been at Camelot’s mercy for nearly thirty years now.  Showing the King of Camelot dumping excrement on a representative Druid is a metaphor for the way the Druids have been treated.  And relating our performances to the events here at the protest gives them even more resonance for the demonstrators.  After all, these performances are as much for our benefit as they are for yours.”

Arthur just shook his head.  He understood the metaphor, but he didn’t agree with it.  “What about the buggery, Merlin?  Was that a metaphor too?”

“Of course it was!”  Merlin said hotly.  And as relieved as Arthur had been to realize that the Druids didn’t consider Arthur himself to be an ogre, he was now equally disappointed that this part of the protest wasn’t personal either.  “It was meant to depict Camelot’s domination over magic users, and its disrespect.  I mean, obviously I’m not casting judgment on loving relations between men,” he added in a hurry.  “The Druids accept all true expressions of love between people.  But for the purposes of the performance, we were playing on the popular understanding of the meaning of buggery -- that no man would ever want to be buggered and so the man getting fucked is in a position of powerlessness.  And then we wanted to add that element of revulsion, to use the presence of feces as a way to draw a parallel between Camelot’s attitude toward magic and society’s misconceptions about intercourse between men.  I rather liked that bit myself -- I thought it added some real complexity to the message we were conveying.”  Merlin paused, apparently basking in his own cleverness.  “Do you see now what we were getting at?”

“I’m not stupid, Merlin.  I see it.  I just don’t like it.”

“You weren’t supposed to like it.”  Merlin looked at Arthur pointedly, then closed his eyes and rested the back of his neck against the edge of the tub.

The next hour was both torture and delight for Arthur.  Having Merlin naked and alone with him in his chambers -- and talking about buggery -- was almost unbearably arousing.  Arthur stayed seated at his desk long after he finished paging through every sheet of parchment within reach because the sounds of Merlin’s pleasure in the bath, the sight of his pale skin and damp hair, the knowledge that all he had to do was stand up and walk a few paces closer and he would see Merlin’s naked body -- it all made Arthur hard.

And Merlin, well, he was oblivious.  After a while, when he realized that Arthur wasn’t really paying attention to what was on his desk, he began chattering about life in the camp.  The promise of free food had brought a lot of newcomers in and Merlin was concerned that not all of them were truly invested in the ideals behind the protest.  Some of them had apparently refused to accept work details, and although many of them had also brought their own tents they hadn’t been willing to share their sleeping quarters with others.

Merlin didn’t ask him directly, but Arthur found himself offering suggestions.  He had plenty of experience leading groups of men, after all, and he knew some of the ways to bring people together in a common cause.  He had certain prerogatives as king, but he also knew that people wouldn’t follow you unless they thought you were worth following.  He urged Merlin to lead by example, and to give the new camp members a stake in the success of the demonstration by entrusting them with more responsibility.

Somewhere in the midst of all this, George had appeared with supper.  He placed a tray on a stool near the bath for Merlin, as if Arthur dined with bathing guests routinely, and another tray on Arthur’s desk.  They fell into silence while they ate and Arthur found that his arousal subsided, settling into something less urgent but no less pleasant.  By the time they were through with their meals, Arthur was no longer afraid to stand up.

Finally, after Merlin had reheated the water with magic at least three times, he announced that he wanted to get out of the bath.  When he thought about it later, Arthur realized that he would have been much better off if he had merely averted his eyes, or turned his back.  As it was, Arthur was so concerned that he might be accosted by Merlin’s nudity again that he darted quickly to grab the drying sheet from the rack.  He held it out in front of himself like a screen as he moved toward the tub.  And then, before he could even fully think through what he was doing, he had wrapped the sheet around Merlin and started toweling him dry.  He stopped himself and stepped back only when he realized that he had gone from rubbing the sheet along Merlin’s flanks to cupping Merlin’s arse.

“Wow.  That’s real service, isn’t it?  Use of the king’s own tub, and then he dries you off too!”  Merlin smiled brightly at Arthur, holding the sheet around his waist while bringing a corner up to dry his hair.  Arthur caught himself gaping again at Merlin’s exposed thigh.

“Clothes.”  He’d given all of Merlin’s dirty clothes to George.  “I’ll just get you some, then.”  Arthur went to his wardrobe to find something that might fit Merlin, and then to take a moment to adjust his swelling cock when he realized how arousing it was to think of Merlin wearing his clothes.

Arthur and Merlin were basically the same height, but Arthur had to weigh two stone more.  He found some old riding breeches that were too tight on him, and a wide belt that needed another hole punched in it.  There was no hope that any of Arthur’s tunics would actually fit Merlin.  He chose a dark blue one, thinking he would like to see Merlin in something other than the earth tones he had been wearing.  And then, remembering the thick seams of the riding leathers, he added a pair of braies to the pile of clothes as well.

“Take these, then.  I’ll have George return your things to you tomorrow.”

Merlin ducked into the antechamber to dress and returned a few minutes later to hang the drying sheet on the rack.

“Thank you again for the bath, Arthur.  And for the company.”  Then Merlin stepped into his boots and slipped quietly out the door.

***

The door had scarcely shut and Arthur was already tearing off his clothes, desperate to get his hands on his prick.  He found himself standing with his breeches around his ankles, one hand braced on his desk while he worked his cock furiously with the other, his gaze fixed on the tub -- as if Merlin were still reclined there, watching him.  Arthur closed his eyes and now Merlin was laid out underneath him, still wet from the bath. Arthur imagined himself straddling Merlin, spending on his chest and lips.

The image was too much.  Arthur came, and Merlin was probably only halfway down the corridor.

Arthur cleaned himself up, dipping a clean washcloth into the tepid bathwater, trying not to think too hard about what had just happened.  He had recognized over the last year or two that courting a woman had not diminished the longing he had had -- since he became aware of any sexual urges at all -- to feel another man’s body against his.  He had loved Gwen, no question, but he knew in his heart that he had never really desired her.  He also knew that many in the castle admired him for his restraint, but their admiration was misplaced.  It had never felt like much of a sacrifice for him to remain chaste.  He wasn’t willing to risk exposing his inadequacies to gain experience with a woman, but he also wasn’t willing to risk asking another man for what he could barely admit to himself he really wanted.  And either way, he knew he couldn’t endure the inevitable gossip.

When he and Gwen made their promises, he had hoped that kissing her and touching her breasts would satisfy him, but it had never felt more than pleasant.  It became all the more complicated with Lancelot’s return, when Arthur realized that he did not resent the attention that Gwen paid to Lancelot even half as much as he resented the attention Lancelot paid to Gwen.

Even now, knowing the depth of Guinevere and Lancelot’s feelings for one another, Arthur still sometimes found himself gazing a little too intently at Lancelot.  And their sparring sessions, probably more frequent than was strictly necessary, always left him breathless.  He couldn’t do it too often, but on rare occasions he would hold back -- just a little -- so that Lancelot could win and then demand that Arthur submit.  He discovered early on that it didn’t matter how it happened.  Whether Arthur found himself on his back, knees splayed, with the tip of Lancelot’s sword at his throat, or with Lancelot pressed against his back twisting Arthur’s arm behind him, or, God help him, when they grappled hand to hand and Lancelot straddled his chest and held Arthur’s arms down -- Arthur could wank himself raw for days afterwards, imagining what might come next.

It had been easier these last few months, with both Guinevere and Lancelot gone, to put the question aside.  But now there was Merlin.  Merlin, who he had just watched getting fucked in the courtyard.  Merlin, who talked about wanting to be buggered, about relations between men.  And suddenly everything that Arthur had dismissed, had pushed out of his mind as unimaginable, now seemed possible.

Lying in bed a short while later, aroused again, Arthur’s mind wandered.  Half asleep, he replayed the evening he had just spent with Merlin.  He had been too startled when it happened to focus on Merlin kissing him, but now he let it unspool in his memory.  He thought about the warmth of Merlin’s hand on his shoulder, the dry press of Merlin’s lips on his cheek.  Arthur had been a child the last time anyone had kissed him without his having kissed them first.  It was shocking that someone would take such liberties.

But Merlin had been taking liberties from the moment they met, calling Arthur by his given name, lecturing him about Druids’ rights.  As he drifted off, Arthur imagined what it would be like to have Merlin by his side all the time.  He thought about their evening together, but this time he was the one in the bath, and Merlin was attending him.  He imagined it was the end of a long, hard day.  A training session, a hunt.  Whatever he had been doing, he was sore and tired.  A hot bath soothed his aching body, and Merlin was there with a cloth, scrubbing gently at his back and neck, cleaning his fingernails, washing his hair, talking to him quietly about nothing in particular.  And then Merlin stoked the fire, poured some wine, and fed Arthur bits of cheese and fruit from his fingers.  After Arthur had had a leisurely soak, Merlin was ready with a warmed sheet, drying him thoroughly so he wouldn’t be chilled.

Arthur pictured Merlin walking him over to the bed, urging him to lie on his stomach so that Merlin could apply warm massage oil to his back in long, firm strokes.  And Arthur did roll onto his stomach, the better to envision Merlin sitting across his thighs.  With each imagined press of Merlin’s hands, Arthur rolled his hips into the mattress.  He thought about Merlin trailing his hands down Arthur’s back to the globes of his arse, digging his thumbs deep into the muscles, spreading his cheeks and letting his fingers reach into Arthur’s crease.

The jolt of arousal that went through Arthur at the thought of Merlin touching him so intimately brought Arthur out of his lassitude.  In just a moment, he went from sleepy and half hard to wide awake and desperate.  He reached for the oil he kept by his bed, but rather than flip over to pull on his cock, he used his oiled fingers to tease at his hole.  He had touched himself there before, of course, but it had never been his focus.  There had been times when he had jerked his cock and reached down to roll his balls in the palm of his other hand -- and if one of his fingers slipped back to brush against his hole, well, no one was watching, were they?  But oiling his fingers to penetrate himself, not even touching his cock?  No, he hadn’t done that.

But it was Merlin’s fingers he imagined now, not his own.  Merlin’s long fingers, spreading Arthur and exposing his most private place.  Merlin’s fingers reaching deep inside him, stroking.  Arthur could picture Merlin now, kneeling between Arthur’s thighs, one hand braced on the small of Arthur’s back, the other twisting deep inside Arthur’s body.  Arthur shoved a pillow under his hips, the better to mimic the posture he was imagining.  And then, Merlin would push against the insides of Arthur’s knees and Arthur would spread his legs as far as they would go, and Merlin would shift back, flat on his stomach between Arthur’s thighs, three fingers deep in Arthur’s arse.  And Arthur would feel his hot breath as Merlin nosed his crease and began licking around Arthur’s rim, wetting between his own fingers even as they were lodged inside Arthur’s body.

Arthur cursed his too-short arms.  There was no way he could stay on his stomach with the first three fingers of his left hand buried in his own arse and still be able to reach underneath himself with his right hand to grip his cock the way he needed.  He struggled awkwardly to his knees, mashing the side of his face into the pillow, and tried working his cock like that.  But it hurt his shoulder, so he curled on his side, with his knees toward his chest.

Like this, he could imagine Merlin behind him, fucking him, breathing in his ear, running his fingers teasingly over Arthur’s cockhead.  So Arthur thrust his fingers in his arse, and forced himself not to tug his cock hard and finish too soon.  Instead, he ran his fingers lightly along the underside of his shaft, trying to imagine that those fingers belonged to Merlin.  He fucked himself harder, thinking of the sounds Merlin would make as he got closer to his release, trying to picture the push and flex of Merlin’s slender hips as he drove hard into Arthur’s arse.  It was the memory of Merlin’s pleasured moan earlier in the bath that finally sent Arthur over the edge.

***

The next morning, Arthur struggled to consciousness slowly, vaguely aware that something was not right.  It was only a few moments later, when George drew back the drapes and served him breakfast, that Arthur registered the quiet in the courtyard down below.  Odd.

A short while later Arthur was walking down the stairs and into the courtyard with Leon, ostensibly on his way to training but also with the bundle of Merlin’s laundered clothes in hand, having told George he would spare him the trip.  The first bell had rung some time ago, but most of the Druids were still in their tents.  However, Arthur and Leon found Will and Gwaine eating breakfast together and conferring over a quill and parchment.

“Eight.  Bait.  Date.  Fate.  Gate.  Hate.  There has to something good in there.”  Gwaine was muttering, more to himself than to Will.

“Hah!”  Will snapped his fingers.  “How about this?  Two, four, six, eight!  Arthur is a reprobate!”  He scribbled on the parchment, unaware that Arthur and Leon were right behind him.

“Good morning,” Arthur said brightly, smirking a bit at Leon when Will and Gwaine startled at the sound of his voice.  “I was wondering if you knew where I might find Merlin?”

“I think he’s gone to do the washing up.  Isn’t that right, Mordred?”  Gwaine stood to speak to Arthur and Leon, shielding Will and the parchment with his body.  Meanwhile, the dark haired boy Arthur had seen around the camp nodded at Gwaine and then left, presumably to fetch Merlin.  Will bit into an apple and moved to cover the parchment casually with his elbow.

Arthur could see he was going to enjoy this.  In one quick move he stepped around Gwaine and snatched the parchment away from Will.  “So, what is it you’re working on here?  Sounded like a new chant.  It was awfully quiet this morning, wouldn’t you say, Sir Leon?”

Will restrained himself from grabbing the parchment back, just barely.  “Yes.  Well, we needed some new material.”

“How does it go, then?”  Arthur read the chant out loud, imitating the enthusiasm of the protesters.  “That’s clever, the counting by twos bit.”

Leon didn’t sound quite as impressed.  “You’ll pardon my saying -- Will, is it? -- but I don’t think that second line works very well at all.  From what I’ve gathered, your objection isn’t with King Arthur’s personal morality.  I think the nub of your disagreement is with his leadership of Camelot, or perhaps with monarchy as a form of government generally.”

Gwaine nodded his agreement.  “That’s a good point he has, Will.  It’s not supposed to be personal.”  And here he looked over at Arthur.

“No offense taken,” Arthur said.

“I think a better choice might be ‘we need a new potentate,’” Leon suggested.  “Unless you’re serious about dispensing with the monarchy entirely.”

“No, that’s perfect,” Will said.  “Two, four, six, eight!  We need a new potentate!”  He and Gwaine repeated this together a few times.  “We’ll try it out this afternoon.”

Leon stepped closer to the overturned barrel that Will and Gwaine were using as a table.  “All right then, what’s our next line?”

Gwaine raised his eyebrows.

Leon seemed agitated.  “You’re not going to stop there, are you?  It clearly calls for a second stanza.”  Perhaps realizing he sounded overly excited, Leon continued in a more measured tone.  “If you’re working with a parallel structure, the next line should be ‘three, five, seven, nine.’”

“One who isn’t asinine?” Will suggested.

Arthur spoke up.  “No, no.  Now you’re just rhyming ‘nine’ with itself.  That’s called an identical rhyme -- it’s weak.”  Arthur turned to Gwaine.  “And I thought you said it wasn’t supposed to be personal?”  Gwaine shrugged.

Merlin and Mordred arrived just then.  Merlin was carrying a large pot and Mordred had an armload of bowls.

“Merlin, mate!” Will greeted him.  “Sir Leon here has been helping us with a new chant.  What do you think of this?”  Will nodded at Gwaine and Leon, and all three of them chanted the first stanza.

“Yeah, that’s good.”  Merlin paused.  “But I wonder if we can’t put out a more positive message?  I mean, obviously there needs to be a change at the top,” and here he smiled apologetically at Arthur, “but I think our focus should be on what we affirmatively want.”

They all mulled this over for a minute or two, and then Merlin said “Two, four, six, eight.  Rule with love and not with hate.  I think that’s the message, don’t you?”

Arthur couldn’t have agreed more, though he wondered if Merlin knew that.  “Three, five, seven, nine,” Arthur said, and gestured at Merlin, encouraging him to finish the verse.

Merlin looked right at Arthur.  “Having magic’s not a crime.”

That’s it right there, Arthur thought.  Although it shamed him, Arthur found he couldn’t meet Merlin’s gaze.

“That’s a great sentiment, but last time I checked, having magic is a crime.”  Will seemed oblivious to the drama Merlin and Arthur had just enacted.

Fortunately, Leon was too.  “I think in the context of your demonstration here, people will understand that it’s meant as a prescriptive and not a descriptive statement.”  Gwaine nodded his concurrence.

The three of them were about to try the whole chant again when Arthur put his hand on Merlin’s shoulder.  “If you’ll excuse us --”

All eyes were suddenly on Arthur and he fumbled for a reason to talk to Merlin in private.  “I want to talk with Merlin here, since I see he is a talented poet.”  Arthur paused awkwardly, feeling the need to explain himself further.  “I love poetry.”

Merlin was doing a poor job of stifling his laughter, but Leon already had his head down, eager to get back to his work with Gwaine and Will.  “I’ll leave you to your poetry then, my lord.”

Arthur thrust the bundle of laundered clothes into Merlin’s hands and walked over toward the well.

“So you didn’t have any trouble getting out of the castle last night?”  It wasn’t what Arthur really wanted to talk about, but he certainly wasn’t about to ask Merlin what he really thought about relations between men, and he felt the need to check in with Merlin nonetheless.

“It was fine.  I think some of the night sentries recognize me by now.”  Of course they did.  “Bit of a late night, though.  We had some trouble with one of the newcomers.”

“What sort of trouble?”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle.  You know Freya, right?  She’s been here from the beginning.”  Arthur thought he knew who Merlin was talking about -- the girl with the torn dress.  “This bloke Halig was treating her like she was his personal property.  Threatened to tie her up and carry her off.  I have no idea where it came from, but several of us had to explain to him that he was no longer welcome in the camp.  A few of the men stayed with him until daybreak, and then we made sure that he left.

“But some of the women said there had been other incidents -- insults and groping and that sort of thing -- and they wanted to set up a women’s-only sleeping area.  We were rearranging tents and reorganizing until really late.”  Merlin gestured over to the camp, and Arthur could see that there was now a makeshift curtain separating three or four tents from the rest.  “And then some of the men needed to talk it through as well, since they felt the women were judging all of them based on the bad behavior of just a few.  It was a good opportunity for all of us to examine our hearts and understand the ways that we’ve internalized our roles as oppressors and oppressed.  Even in an egalitarian collective, we need to be aware of the ways that we enact male privilege.”  Arthur nodded, even though he didn’t have the faintest idea what Merlin was talking about.  “So I guess you got a bit of a lie in, since we were all too knackered to get up early today.”

More of the protesters were awake now and, looking around, Arthur could see a good number of unfamiliar faces, many of whom did not appear to be Druids and might not be very peaceable.  It made him uneasy to think of Merlin sleeping out here amidst what could be some unsavory characters.

“Merlin, while you’re here in Camelot, you need to let my sentries deal with the criminals.”  Arthur couldn’t imagine that Merlin and his friends would be able to repel any serious threat to their safety.  And while they were in Arthur’s home (well, outside his home anyway) they were his responsibility.

“I appreciate that, but we really need to handle these sorts of issues as a community.  I’m sure your guards are very good at their jobs,” and here it seemed to Arthur that Merlin was perhaps having a bit of fun with him, “but we’re here in peaceful protest against the ruling order, and it would hardly do for us to resort to state sanctioned violence at the first sign of trouble.”  Arthur himself was a firm believer in state sanctioned violence, but he recognized that Merlin wouldn’t necessarily feel the same way.

“All the same, Merlin, you are my guests while you are here, and I trust that you will seek help from the guards the moment you feel that you are in any danger.”

“Thank you, Arthur.”

***

In the days that followed, it seemed that every time Arthur crossed the courtyard in the late afternoon, he found Merlin returning from a garbage hauling or privy cleaning detail.  And within a few minutes of striking up a conversation, Arthur would make a show of wrinkling his nose and say something like, “Merlin, I can’t possibly talk to you when you reek of rotting fruit.  Come with me.”  And so he would spirit Merlin off to his chambers, and linger with him while George wrangled the kitchen boys, until on the third occasion Merlin told Arthur not to trouble the kitchen staff with heating the water and simply spelled it to the right temperature.

Usually, Arthur would sit at his desk and read.  Unlike the first time Merlin bathed in his chambers, Arthur actually found that having Merlin’s company while he worked settled his mind.  The gentle splashing noises were calming, and if Arthur came across something amusing or perplexing in his reading, he could share it with Merlin and sometimes they would discuss it.  Merlin knew nothing about running a kingdom, of course, but Arthur found that he often brought a fresh perspective to the problems Arthur was called upon to solve.  The fact of the matter was that Arthur enjoyed Merlin’s company.  For the time being, Arthur didn’t have any official dinner engagements, and so George brought trays to the room like he had that first evening after the dung cart protest.  Sometimes Merlin ate in the bath, but a few times he joined Arthur at the table.  Arthur was soon going to run out of cast off clothes for Merlin to change into.

During this time Arthur continued to look for signs of Emrys, and for hints as to what his coming trial would entail.  After dunking himself in the stream, Arthur hadn’t explored any more of the conventional ordeals.  Upon further reflection, he thought it much more likely that he would be tried in some magical fashion.  But given his unfamiliarity with all things magical, he didn’t even know what he should be looking for.

A few nights before he had undertaken a vision quest, hoping that the ordeal Emrys had planned for him would be revealed while he was in an altered state of mind.  He performed the purification rituals, and donned the white robe he hadn’t touched since he was an untried prince.  And, after batting George’s hands away when he tried to straighten the ties on the robe for the third time, Arthur locked himself in the throne room and dropped to his knees.  And stayed there for about five minutes before being struck by the pointlessness of it all.  Apparently the idea of the vision quest wasn’t quite as powerful as he had remembered it from his youth.  His knees certainly weren’t what they had been then either.

Arthur had never put much stock in portents or soothsaying, but he found himself questioning the significance of everyday events, wondering if perhaps they contained a message that was meant for him.  That morning, a new recruit had taken a wild swing at Sir Leon and had lost his grip on his sword.  The blade flew twenty feet before it landed, its point buried in the earth, not six inches in front of Arthur’s feet.  In the afternoon, he had heard reports of a peasant woman claiming to have seen a dragon conjured out of smoke.  And now, looking down into the dregs of his cup, Arthur could swear he saw the outline of a bird of prey.  What did it all mean?

Arthur mused on all this while Merlin hummed contentedly in the bath.  “Do you ever wonder if you measure up?”

“All the time.”  Merlin looked over to where Arthur was sitting at his desk and smiled.  “But surely, Arthur, you must know that you’re doing a good job as king.”

“You think so?”  Arthur found he was very interested in Merlin’s answer.

“Well, yeah, sure.  I mean, considering you’re an absolute monarch who exercises ultimate governing authority over his subjects with no formal limits, I think you’re actually pretty restrained.  Honestly, a lot of other kings would have had us all tortured to death by now.”

Arthur rolled his eyes.  “That’s not a ringing endorsement, Merlin.  Refraining from having my political adversaries dismembered doesn’t actually mean I’m a good king.”

“No, but it does suggest you have the makings of one.”  Merlin suddenly seemed a lot more serious.

“Perhaps.  But a king can never rest on his laurels.  He is always being tested, always being faced with new challenges.  And his failure could mean the downfall of the kingdom.”

“You’re right, the stakes are high.  But they are for everyone, king and commoner alike.  We just have to live our lives and try to make the right choices.”

Arthur wasn’t so sure.  Clearly the decisions he made as king were weightier than any someone like Merlin might face.  Too many people depended on Arthur -- he didn’t have the luxury of just hoping for the best. “You wouldn’t understand, Merlin.  You have no idea what it’s like to have a destiny you can’t escape.”

Arthur hadn’t meant his tone to be quite so sharp.  The silence between them was heavy for a few moments, but then Merlin began talking, more to himself, it seemed, than to Arthur.  “Destinies are troublesome things.  You feel trapped, like your whole life is being planned out for you and you’ve no control over anything, and sometimes you don’t even know if what destiny decided is really the best thing at all.”

“How do you know so much about destiny?”

Merlin said nothing in response -- just looked at Arthur and shook his head.  Arthur changed his line of questioning.

“Tell me something, Merlin.  There are ways that noblemen show their mettle -- contests and jousts and so on.  What about sorcerers?  Are there tests, or trials that they engage in?”

“You mean like a bout?  To see who is stronger?”

“Well, perhaps.  But that’s not really what the noble contests are about.  It’s to see who is worthy.  Do the Druids do that sort of thing?”

“Not really.  I learned pretty quickly once I went to live with them that there’s not much you can hide from the Druids.  If there’s something important to figure out about a person, they’ll figure it out.”

“So there are no demonstrations?  No assessments?  How does a man prove his worth?”  Arthur suddenly realized how agitated he sounded. 

“It’s the same for the Druids as it is for everyone else, Arthur,” Merlin replied quietly.  “The only way a man can prove his worth is in the way he lives his life.  It’s there for all to see.”

***

Later that night Arthur woke from his first sleep, restless as usual.  He made what was by now his customary circuit around the Druid camp, hoping he might find Merlin awake as well.  He would have even settled for Gwaine.  But the camp was quiet.  After a few moments listening to the snores and snuffles of the sleeping Druids, Arthur wandered over to the well, thinking he would get a drink.

The bucket was just about to break the surface of the water when Arthur saw an odd reflection and pulled back on the rope.

“Hello, Arthur.  I was hoping to find you awake.”

“Morgana!  Where are you?”  Arthur hadn’t seen her since she left to find Emrys.  He certainly hadn’t expected her to pop up now.

“I’m still with Iseldir.  Where are you?  I went looking for you in your wash basin, but you weren’t there.”  Morgana had only just begun her studies in scrying when she left Camelot.  Obviously her skills had improved.

“I’m in the courtyard, at the well.  Keep your voice down!”

Morgana looked chastened, but maybe that was just a ripple gliding across her reflection.

“Spying on your guests, then, are you?”  Even with ripples distorting her features, Morgana managed to look smug.

“How did you know about them?”  Well before he learned she had magic, Arthur had concluded that Morgana had eyes in the back of her head.

“Lancelot gave me a full report when he returned.  He’s very thorough.”  Morgana paused, apparently deciding against any further taunting.  “Look, I have no idea how long I can maintain this, so let me get to the point.  I’ve learned more about Emrys.”  Finally, perhaps some information Arthur could use.

“When is he coming?  What does he want?”

“I can’t answer that.  The Druids say that he will make himself known when the time is right.  But Arthur, I do know that he is the one destined to stand at the side of the Once and Future King.  Emrys will bring about the time of Albion.”

Albion.  A fairy tale if ever Arthur had heard one.  All the histories and mythologies that Arthur had read as a child spoke of it -- a land without war or strife, a land of peace and plenty, a land of harmony between the old and the new.  The story was that Albion would be ruled by the Once and Future King, a just sovereign, who would command the forces of men, and by The Magician, who would command the forces of magic.  Arthur could picture the illustration from his favorite storybook clearly.  The Once and Future King was like the sun, with golden rays emanating from his golden hair and crown.  Standing at his side was The Magician, dark and mysterious like the moon.  Needless to say, bedtime stories about a king and a sorcerer were not favored reading material for children past a certain age in Uther’s household.  Arthur hadn’t seen that book in years.

But more to the point, in Arthur’s experience a king was lucky to avoid a state of constant war.  Perpetual peace was a pretty tall order.

“Morgana, that’s a children’s story and you know it.”

“It’s not, Arthur.  The Druids really believe that Emrys is The Magician.  They say that Emrys is the most powerful sorcerer ever to walk the face of the earth and that he’s here, now.  All of their prophecies point to this moment as the dawn of Albion.”

“Well then I suppose the great Magician is looking for his Once and Future King.”  Arthur was joking, but he realized the moment he saw Morgana’s expression that she was dead serious.

“Yes, he is.  Are you ready for him, Arthur?”

This was preposterous.  Fair hair and noble features aside, Arthur was no Golden King.  And if Emrys really was looking for Arthur, he couldn’t have been trying very hard.  Arthur was right here in Camelot, where he had always been.

“This is nonsense, Morgana.  Is there anything more?”

“Isn’t that enough, Arthur?”  Morgana looked resigned, like she hadn’t really expected Arthur to believe her, and Arthur wondered when exactly she had lost faith in him.  “I’ve done all I can here.  We’ll be coming home soon.”

And then the water shimmered briefly, and Morgana was gone.

***

A few days later Arthur was once again returning laundered clothes to Merlin down in the courtyard and hoping to use the errand as an excuse for a chat.  The monks of Basseleg Priory, who were responsible for the section of the main road to Camelot that had washed out in the spring floods, had stopped work on the repairs.  When Arthur sent a patrol to investigate why the road had not yet been fixed, the monks claimed their work stoppage was “in solidarity with the Druid protesters occupying Camelot’s courtyard.”  On first hearing this, Arthur had guffawed at the idea that anyone other than the Druids themselves would think the camp in the courtyard constituted an occupation.  But the monks seemed determined, and Arthur wasn’t sure how to get them back to work.  It occurred to him that Merlin might have some suggestions.

He also wanted to talk to Merlin about the situation in his home kingdom, Essetir.  Cenred’s death and the loss of his army had left the kingdom in turmoil.  Arthur had been running extra patrols along the border for months, but he could see that the task of restoring order was going to fall to the neighboring kingdoms.  Perhaps Merlin had some ideas about who among the surviving nobility Arthur should approach to forge an alliance.  Unfortunately, Merlin didn’t have time for more than a quick greeting.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur, but I really have to run.  There’s a committee meeting starting just now.”

“Committee meeting?”  Arthur had seen groups of Druids gathered in discussion from the earliest days of the protest, but he hadn’t imagined they were quite that organized.  “What sort of committee meeting?”

“Well, this one is the Rules Committee.  We’re trying to devise a set of procedures for bringing the work of the other committees before the committee of the whole.  Robert has done an excellent job on the first draft, but we need to make some revisions and vote the final version out of committee.”

Arthur would sooner drive horseshoe nails through his own forehead than sit through such a meeting himself.  “Well, I should be through with the council a little early today.  Maybe I’ll come by this afternoon.”

“Erm.  That would be great.  But after the rules committee meeting I told Freya I would help her co-chair a meeting of the Women’s Circle, and I also need to meet with the Finance Committee about our budget.  We’ve had so many newcomers recently it’s been very hard to predict our expenses.  Tristan and Isolde are going to present their ideas for new sources of income to the budget working group.”

“Yes, of course.”  Co-chair the Women’s Circle?  New sources of income?  Never mind.  “Well, perhaps we can talk at bath time.”  Merlin looked relieved to have been dismissed, and went scurrying off to the meeting area near the front of the camp.  Already, a group of a dozen or so earnest looking protesters were sitting cross legged in a circle on the ground, apparently waiting for Merlin so that they could begin.  And Arthur found himself smiling at the irony that he, the King of Camelot, had a bit of time on his hands on this fine May morning while Merlin, a simple peasant, was knee deep in this rather bizarre form of governance.

Merlin was still bogged down that afternoon.  Arthur hadn’t really planned to seek him out again, but during the council’s discussion of the road repairs, none of the courtiers had any suggestions for dealing with the recalcitrant monks other than sending out some overseers with horse whips to see that the work got done.  Arthur figured that practically anything Merlin proposed would be an improvement.  Arthur didn’t see Merlin as he walked past the Druids’ gathering place, but Gwaine was there.

“Is Merlin anywhere about?”

“I’m sorry.  I haven’t seen him since the Finance Committee meeting.  I think he was going to find Gilli.  They have a meeting this afternoon too.”  Gwaine looked rather in a hurry himself.

“Don’t let me keep you.  Are you off somewhere?”

“Yes.  I’m chairing a working group of the Committee on Equal Opportunity for Peasants.  We’re discussing proposals for reforming the Knights’ Code.”  The Knights’ Code -- that’s something Arthur could sink his teeth into.  He had been working on some reforms to the Code himself.  Gwaine must have noticed how Arthur perked up.  “Would you like to come along?”

“Thank you, Gwaine.  I’d be delighted.”

It was such a fine day that after everyone had assembled by the well, the group decided to take their discussion outside the gates so they could sit in the grass.  Gwaine began by going around the circle, asking each person to say his name and why he was interested in participating in this working group.  Because he was sitting to Gwaine’s left, Arthur was the last to go.

“My name is Arthur Pendragon, and I’m interested in the group because I have lived according to the tenets of the Knights’ Code since I became a knight at the age of sixteen.  I have been striving to perfect the Code since I became king.”

“Thank you, everyone.”  Gwaine got down to business quickly.  “I do have one quick announcement before we get started.  The Literacy Circle will now be meeting on Tuesdays and Thursdays at three o’clock outside the healer’s tent.  I encourage all of you who are interested in improving your skills to attend.”  Gwaine shuffled through his notes and continued.

“I think it’s fair to say that, for many of us, the reason we’re here at this protest is to secure economic justice for the less privileged subjects of Camelot.  As most of you know, Matthew and William have been steering the Committee on Equal Opportunity for Peasants.  They’ve already developed some important initiatives around land reform and taxation.  I asked them if I could form this group because I believe that one important component in securing equal opportunity for the peasant population is a reform of the Knights’ Code so that peasants can serve.

“First, I think it should be obvious that the skills necessary to be an effective knight are not possessed exclusively by the nobility.  I have been living by my wits since I was just a lad, and some of the noblest and most skilled fighters I’ve encountered have been peasant-born.

“Second, I think that if the nobility see peasant-born knights serving with distinction, they will come to understand the inherent worth of all the subjects of Camelot, and they may be more favorably disposed to further reforms.

“Last but not least, I think if you look around you’ll see that one clear path to upward mobility in the kingdom is service as a knight.  It’s dangerous work, obviously, but those with talent are rewarded handsomely, often with land.  The opportunities available to knights, and to their families, are considerable.  That’s why I think reform of the Knights’ Code should be a plank in our economic justice platform.  Does anyone have any comments?”

Arthur heard murmurs of assent from around the circle.  All the members of this working group were young men -- some barely old enough to squire, but some who were in their prime.  Arthur didn’t think many of them would be fit enough to withstand his training regimen, but they were no different than the crop of spotty noble youth sent to him each year.  The bigger question in his mind was whether any of them truly understood what it meant to be a knight.

“Gwaine?  If I may?”  Gwaine recognized Arthur.  “Let me ask you all, why do you wish to become Knights of Camelot?”

No one was bold enough to answer Arthur directly, but he heard muttering -- “glory,” “adventure,” “women,” “treasure.”  Again, not much different from the talk he heard among the new noble recruits each year, but still wrong.

Arthur resisted the urge to stand and pace.  Sitting here in the grass with his legs crossed like a beggar in the marketplace was hardly the ideal posture for the sort of message Arthur intended to deliver, but he tried to make the best of it.

“The only reason to become a Knight of Camelot is in order to serve the King, and protect the kingdom.”  He looked gravely at the assembled group.  “It is true that such men may receive earthly rewards in recognition of their sacrifices.  And I won’t lie to you – sometimes my knights must sacrifice their very lives.  But any man who seeks knighthood solely as a means of economic improvement will be sorely disappointed.  The life of a knight is hard, and only those with a passion for service will be able to endure it.  I will tell you this, though.  Those who serve honorably, who protect the weak, who are honest and brave and true -- they will reap the real reward of knighthood, which is the satisfaction of knowing that they have devoted their lives to a cause greater than themselves.”

Silence.  Arthur was dead serious, of course, but this little speech of his always made the noble recruits hang their heads too.  Best to get these illusions about knighthood dispelled early.  Maybe in the past a knighthood had been an easy way for a second or third son to advance in the world -- maybe it had even been little better than a license to plunder -- but not any longer.

“Knowing this, how many of you still wish to be Knights of Camelot?”  Arthur looked around the circle, meeting the eyes of each of the men in turn, and was pleased to see that only a few looked away.  “And so you may be.”

Gwaine looked surprised, but Arthur continued.  “The Knights’ Code states that a knight must be ‘of noble bearing.’  During my father’s reign, that was understood to mean ‘of noble birth.’  But I now have in my service three knights who are peasant-born.  Sir Lancelot, who saved Camelot from a dangerous beast and has stood at my right hand for some years now; Sir Percival, who fought valiantly against Cenred and his army; and Sir Elyan, who earned his knighthood when he helped to rescue someone dear to me.  Any man who is willing to live by the Knights’ Code of chivalry, and who can acquit himself nobly in battle, is welcome in my service.”

Arthur was pleased to hear the members of the working group erupt in cheers and applause.  It took a few moments for Gwaine to restore order, but then he thanked Arthur for the clarification and proposed that, in light of the fact that the Knights’ Code was not actually in need of reform, the working group should devote itself to studying the means by which it could most effectively disseminate Arthur’s interpretation of the Knights’ Code, and to devising strategies to encourage peasant youth to consider training as knights.  The motion carried, a new working group on Recruitment of Peasant Youth to the Knighthood was formed, and the meeting was adjourned.

“That was quick.”  Arthur had stayed behind to talk to Gwaine as the meeting broke up.

“Well, it doesn’t happen often, but sometimes you discover you don’t need reform after all.”  Gwaine smiled.  “But I find it makes a difference to people when they feel they’ve been a part of a process.  Even if they don’t actually contribute anything themselves.”

They began walking back into the courtyard.  “So what about you, Gwaine?  Why do you wish to be a Knight of Camelot?  You seem to do well enough with the ladies.  Surely it’s not just for treasure?”

“Who said I wanted to be a Knight of Camelot?”  Gwaine’s tone was mild, as usual, but his question took Arthur by surprise.

“Pardon me.  I had assumed that the subject was of interest to you personally.”

“Yes, and perhaps I would like to be a knight someday.  But with all due respect, Arthur, I’m not yet sure I’ve found the king I wish to serve.”  Gwaine was polite -- almost too polite, given what Arthur had seen of him so far -- but his meaning was clear.

“I see.”  Arthur realized that he had been walking shoulder to shoulder with Gwaine, as he would one of his men.  He altered his stride to put a bit more distance between them.  “Then I hope you find him.”

Back in the courtyard, they found Merlin in heated discussion.

“I’m not going to apologize for who I am!  You can be a servant and pretend you’re less than them, but I’m not going to.”  One of the Druid protesters, a pig-faced young man with close set eyes, was yelling at Merlin.

“No, that’s not what I do!”  Merlin sounded distraught, and even though Arthur wasn’t exactly sure what they were arguing about, he could see how upset Merlin was.

“No?  You’re defending the King!  Protecting a man that would have you dead!”

Arthur felt the accusation like a punch to the gut.  He would never harm Merlin.  Merlin had to know that -- he must.  But Merlin was silent.

“I would never!”  Arthur had to step in.  He had no idea how this argument started, but he wouldn’t let a statement like that go unchallenged.  He tried to get closer, but Gwaine put a hand on his arm.

Merlin and the other man weren’t listening to Arthur anyway.

“You’ve been pretending for so long now that you’ve actually forgotten who you are.”

“That’s not true.”  Merlin hung his head; his voice was barely a whisper.

“It’s time someone struck a blow for the likes of you and me. And if you’re too weak, then I will.”  With this, the pig-faced man stalked off toward the camp.

It took Merlin a moment to compose himself before he spoke.  “Go after him, Gwaine, would you please?  See if you can settle him down.”

Arthur didn’t even know where to start.

“Merlin, you must know --”

“Yes, Arthur.  I know you’re not like your father.  But Gilli doesn’t know that, not yet.”

“What was he even talking about, pretending you’re a servant, forgetting who you are?”

“It’s nothing.  He was at my subcommittee meeting and he was upset when I told him that his remarks were out of order.”

“Well, what was the meeting about?  What were the remarks?”  Considering how talkative Merlin could be, sometimes it was a real effort dragging information out of him.

“It was a meeting of the Subcommittee on Proposed Laws Governing the Practice of Magic in Camelot --”

“What?!”

“-- and Gilli was objecting both to the existence of the subcommittee, and to the fact that there are non-magical members on the subcommittee.  I told him that objections to the formation and membership of subcommittees needed to be brought before the Rules Committee.”

“Never mind that!  You’re drafting laws governing magic?!  In Camelot?!”  Arthur was flabbergasted.  What did Merlin think he was doing?

“Well we’re not just here to shout and bang on drums.”

Arthur knew immediately that his expression had given him away. He really needed to work on that.

“Oh my God, that’s exactly what you think!  Don’t even try to deny it!  You think we’re here just to shout and bang on drums, don’t you?”

Apparently Arthur didn’t need to say anything. Merlin was perfectly capable of carrying on both sides of the conversation himself.

“Of course we’re drafting proposals, Arthur.  If the Druids are going to make peace with Camelot, both sides need to know what that agreement will look like.  We’re not going to come before you, hat in hand, hoping for the best.  There’s going to have to be a bargain, and we need to figure out what we're willing to trade for peace.  And if you had any sense, you would do the same.”

“Merlin, I think you’ve forgotten that I’m the king.  I’m the one who makes the laws in Camelot.”

“Yes, well perhaps you’ve forgotten that you have a hundred and some protesters occupying your courtyard and we’re not leaving until you’ve honored your promise to treat the Druids with the respect they deserve.  You should be glad that most of the members of the subcommittee don’t agree with Gilli.  Most of us understand that there will have to be responsible limits on the use of magic.  But it’s going to take some effort to bring around Gilli, and others like him.  They have good reason to fear how any laws regarding magic can be used against them.”

Merlin stopped short, realizing perhaps belatedly that he had been lecturing the King of Camelot, and on legalizing magic no less.

For his part, Arthur was subdued.  Of course he had been focused these last many months on honoring his promise to the Druids, but in thinking about it now he recognized that he had been dreadfully shortsighted.  At first, he had been trying to make contact with any Druids who would treat with him.  Then he had sent Morgana off on this seemingly pointless quest to find Emrys.  And now he was dealing with the everyday nuisance of Druid protesters in his courtyard.  But had he ever really thought about what a treaty between Camelot and the Druids would say?

At this very moment members of Arthur’s council were drafting a treaty that Camelot and Caerleon might soon sign.  Royal surveyors from both sides had spent weeks in the disputed border country, pacing off the distances between streams and ancient oaks, tracing imaginary lines along ridges and valleys, assessing the quality of the roads and footpaths.  Exchequers from both sides were comparing tax revenues from the border villages over the last ten years.  Scholars and historians were researching what sort of reparations might be due for the murder of a king.  Arthur was determined to entertain any reasonable ideas for securing a lasting peace between Camelot and Caerleon.

And what had Arthur imagined he would do with the mysterious Emrys when he found him?  Roast a boar, drink some wine, shake hands and call it a day?

Arthur knew a repeal of his father’s ban on magic was long overdue, but he saw now that in his zeal to find Emrys, he had been avoiding any consideration of how to effect that repeal, or how to prevent the kind of magical free-for-all that had led to the Purge in the first place.  Arthur knew that if there was to be peace between Camelot and the Druids, they would need to agree on terms.   While Arthur seriously doubted whether anything that came out of Merlin’s mutinous subcommittee should ever see the light of day, it was also true that they had to start somewhere.  And since Emrys was nowhere in sight, Arthur might as well see what Merlin and the rest of these ragamuffins could come up with.

***

It was the first Monday of the month, and Arthur was walking with Sir Kay, his seneschal, toward the training grounds.  Kay had been one of Uther’s finest warriors, and had trained Arthur as soon as Arthur was big enough to wield a sword, but an injury several years ago had left him lame.  His many years at court, and his personal loyalty to Arthur, had made him an easy choice as gatekeeper when Arthur was a new, young king.  Now, several years into his reign, Arthur was less in need of Kay’s skills at traffic control, but he still valued the older knight’s counsel.

“So, who do we have scheduled for audiences tomorrow?”  Arthur was committed to devoting two mornings a month to common pleas.  There had been far more disputes over livestock than he ever would have wished to hear, but these sessions gave him valuable insight into the concerns of his subjects, and even the losers in the controversies brought before him rarely walked away unhappy.

“More of the same.  Overgrazing in the commons.  Complaints from residents of the Lower Town that The Rising Sun is remaining open past curfew and perhaps running a bawdy house besides.  Oh – and you’ll enjoy this one.  Remember last summer the two farmers who were arguing over access to their shared watering hole?”

“Hmm.  Yes, I think so.  Didn’t I set a schedule for them?”

“Exactly.  They’re back, because the stream feeding the watering hole overran its banks.  Seems that the one farmer thinks that his neighbor, who had rights to the water on the day of the flood, bears sole responsibility for the damage caused to both their properties.”

“Well that’s creative.  What about our friends here?”  Arthur gestured towards the camp, where it appeared that another protest performance was about to get underway.

“Not on the schedule.  They didn’t ask.”

That was a disappointment.  He had been hoping, pretty much ever since the Druids had arrived in the courtyard, to have it out with them once and for all.  At first, he had been motivated purely by spite.  All that noise!  The early morning wakings, the insults to his character.  Arthur had wanted them to come before him and show him the respect he was due as their sovereign.  He would be noble, of course, and forgiving, and he would listen to their petition, and promise to make new laws.  And the Druids would be apologetic.  They would dismantle their camp and go home, sorry that they had ever doubted their king.  And Arthur would sleep late.

In the ensuing weeks, his motives had changed.  Now, if he was honest with himself, it was about proving his good intentions.  He had played it out in his mind countless times.  Merlin and a handful of the others, as scrubbed up and presentable as they could manage, appearing before him in the throne room and asking Arthur -- asking him, calmly, respectfully, subserviently -- to honor the promise he had made when the spirit of that Druid boy had possessed Sir Elyan.

And in Arthur’s mind, it had all worked out the way he had wanted, and he could tell them.  That he had directed his own sister to undertake a secret diplomatic mission.  That she had located the mysterious Emrys.  That Emrys had tested Arthur, and found in him a worthy king, an ally.  Perhaps Emrys was there, at the audience.  Arthur imagined an ancient man with flowing white hair and a beard, fearsome yet benevolent.  The Druids would be awestruck, amazed that Emrys walked among them and that Arthur had withstood his trial.  And Merlin would be there too, looking at Arthur, admiration shining in his eyes.  And Merlin would know, fully and finally, all that Arthur could not say directly.  That he was not his father.  That he was a worthy king.  That he wanted peace with the Druids.  That he wanted peace for all of Albion, even if he didn't believe in fairy tales.  That he didn’t hate magic.  That he didn’t hate Merlin either.  Quite the opposite.

And then, damn it, he and Emrys _would_ drink some wine, and roast a boar, and shake hands.  There would be a feast.  And Arthur and his court, and Emrys and the Druids, would make merry all through the night.  And then the next morning, when Emrys departed with the Druids, Merlin would ask to stay behind, to stay at Arthur’s side, and Arthur would let him.

“Hmm?”  Arthur had missed the last bit of what Sir Kay was telling him.  Something about the privy cleaner, Kanen.

“Kanen has sought an audience too, sire.  He feels the protesters are infringing on his royal warrant.”

Kay didn’t have a chance to finish his explanation, as the performance in the courtyard was now starting.

This was easily the most elaborate performance the Druids had staged.  Will’s “King Arthur” costume had been transformed.  He now sported a red cape, a crude wooden sword, and a crown that appeared to have been fashioned from a cast-off lady’s hat.  Gwaine and a dark-skinned protester Arthur had never seen before both had red capes and swords as well.  The three of them were galloping rather ridiculously, while another Druid off stage clapped two dried gourds together to sound like horses’ hooves striking the ground.  Another three or four Druids stood stationary, with their arms extended and bits of greenery on their heads.  After a moment, Arthur realized they were meant to be trees.  Will and Gwaine and the dark-skinned man made a few circuits around the stage area, then came to an abrupt stop when a skinny, stringy haired man dressed in a long robe popped out from behind a barrel.

“Who dares to pass through these enchanted woods, and disturb the spirits of the dead?”  The stringy haired Druid held his hands out in front of him with his fingers extended.  Arthur noticed now that there were ribbons and flags strung between the trees, of the kind the Druids used to mark shrines.

“It is I, King Arthur of Camelot, and my knights, Sir Lancelot and Sir Elyan.”  Arthur filed that one away for later.  As hilarious as it was that a crude and simple peasant such as Will would presume to impersonate his king, it was equally funny that a rogue and ruffian such as Gwaine would appropriate the identity of the prim and noble Lancelot.  Lancelot might fail to see the humor, but Guinevere would appreciate hearing about this.

“King Arthur, the war criminal?  King Arthur, whose father nearly destroyed the peaceful civilization that has inhabited these woods from the time before the Romans?  King Arthur, who promised peace and respect, and delivered nothing more than stale bread and half-eaten roasts?  How dare you come to this hallowed place?”

Just then, the dark skinned man playing Sir Elyan screamed in terror and dropped his sword.  He fell to his knees and began clutching his head, rocking back and forth and wailing.  The boy, Mordred, came out from behind one of the trees and began circling around the dark skinned man.

The dark skinned man looked up, his eyes wide with fear.  “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to bring me peace.  You must right the wrong that was done to me.”

“How?”

“It’s easy.  You must kill the king.”

Mordred stepped back behind the tree, and then the dark skinned knight took up his sword again and went after Will.  After a truly appalling display of fake swordsmanship, which the rest of the crowd nevertheless found highly entertaining, Will defeated the dark skinned man, raising his sword dramatically before plunging it down as if to drive it through the other man’s chest.  Arthur was furious -- that is not at all how it happened and he wished Sir Elyan were with him now to prove it.

Then the stringy haired Druid spoke again.  “Your enemies are legion, King Arthur.  You may defeat one of us, but you will never defeat us all!”

“Silence, evil sorcerer!”  Gwaine leaped forward and swished his sword a few times.  Then the stringy haired Druid raised his hands again, hissed some gibberish, and Gwaine fell to the ground.

“Now I have you, King Arthur!  Your knights are dead and your weapons are powerless against my magic!”  The evil sorcerer gloated and twirled his moustache a moment or two longer, while Will fell to his knees and began wailing and groveling in a most unseemly manner.  Arthur rolled his eyes.  He could see exactly where this display was going, and it ended with Will, as king, flat on his arse having been defeated by magic.  Why did he even bother to watch?  He shifted uneasily, trying to edge his way out.

“Please, please spare me, mister sorcerer.  I see now the error of my ways and I promise to make peace with the Druids.”  Will clasped his hands together and shuffled forward on his knees.  Arthur was quite ready to leave, but he was boxed in by the crowd now and so resigned himself to seeing it through to the end.  Besides, he’d nearly worked his way to the front.  Walking away now would be too obvious.

“Never!” shouted the evil sorcerer, preparing to strike the final blow.

Just then, a figure in a long black dress jumped between Will and the evil sorcerer.  As soon as the figure turned to face him, Arthur could see that it was Merlin, costumed as some sort of witch.

“Stop!” Merlin shouted, in a throaty falsetto.  “I won’t allow it!  He has a great destiny before him!”  Arthur reminded himself to ask Merlin about this later.  Then Merlin and the stringy haired Druid battled one another, throwing actual spells that brought gasps and cheers from the crowd, even when Merlin accidentally fired a cloud of butterflies at his opponent.  Finally, Merlin held his hands up and shouted some more gibberish, and the evil sorcerer collapsed in a heap, twitching and gasping.

Will watched until the Druid playing the evil sorcerer had finished his death throes, then addressed Merlin.  “I owe you a great debt.  If there’s ever anything I can do in return …”

“There is one thing.”

“Name it.”

“Remember what saved you.  Magic and sorcery.”

“It was also sorcery that attacked me.”

“There is no evil in sorcery, only in the hearts of men.  My request is that you remember this.”  Merlin delivered his line to Will, but the moment he was done speaking he looked right at Arthur, who was standing in the front row.

“You have my word,” Will said.  And Arthur nodded at Merlin.

At this, Merlin placed his hand on Will’s shoulder, and kissed him on the cheek.  “One day, great king, you will recognize the true worth of those that surround you.”

***

After another week of finding Merlin filthy and bedraggled in the courtyard at the end of the day, Arthur could no longer contain himself.  Once Merlin had settled himself into the bath as usual, and Arthur had dismissed George with a pile of Merlin’s laundry, Arthur spoke up.

“Merlin, why are you the only one hauling the garbage and cleaning the privies?”

“What?”  Merlin sat up, removing the damp washcloth from where he had draped it across his eyes and forehead.

“You’ve bathed here practically every night this week, and I’m wondering why I never see anyone else doing any of the dirty work.”

“That’s not true!  Matthew helped me with the garbage yesterday, and Gilli is coming with me tomorrow.”

“Yes, but you’re still doing it too, aren’t you?  And cleaning the privies every other day?”

“Yes, but --”

“But what, Merlin?  There must be nearly two hundred of you down there now.  Surely someone else can take away the garbage.”

“I thought you told me to lead by example!  That’s what I’m doing.  No one volunteers for the garbage hauling, so I do it.”  Merlin folded his arms over his chest.

Arthur began pacing in front of his desk.  Ever since that mortifying moment the week before with the drying sheet and the arse squeezing, Arthur had made a point of staying seated while Merlin was in the bath.  It had required rather heroic self-control, but he had also managed to keep his eyes averted whenever Merlin stood up to dry off.  Now, however, he found he couldn’t keep still.

“I also told you to give others responsibility as well.  You’ve done your duty and now it’s time for them to step up.  Who’s in charge of the camp, anyway?”

“I’ve told you -- we’re a collective.  No one is in charge.  We work by consensus.”

“Nonsense!  No one assigns duties by consensus.”

Merlin’s silence confirmed for Arthur that in fact the rabble in his front yard did assign duties by consensus.  And the consensus seemed to be that Merlin was the garbage man.

“All right then.  Perhaps you can’t order anyone else to haul the garbage or clean the privies, but you can certainly stop doing it all yourself.”

“But what if no one else does it?”

“You’re just going to have to find out, aren’t you?”

Merlin looked skeptical.  “But you and Sir Leon said the garbage and the overflowing privies were a hazard to public health.”

“Yes, Merlin.  They are.  But you need to have a little more faith in your collective.  It’s like raising children” -- a subject Arthur knew nothing about -– “if you continue to do everything for them, they’ll never learn to do it themselves.”  Arthur had stopped pacing and was now standing right next to the tub.  Merlin held very still under Arthur’s gaze, and Arthur made sure to keep his eyes from roaming.  “You’ve shown them what it means to be a responsible member of the community.  Now you need to let go of some of that responsibility so that someone else can shoulder it.”

This time Merlin was the one to break eye contact first, and he resumed sloshing.  Arthur hadn’t stepped back, and it looked to him like Merlin was crossing his legs to cover his cock.  “Since when did you get to be so wise?”

Arthur snorted.  “Of course I’m wise.  I’m the king.”  Merlin said nothing, but raised his eyebrows, blushing slightly at Arthur’s continued scrutiny.  “We really do need to work on your manners, don’t we?”

“Right after you scrub my back.”  Merlin held out the washcloth, and Arthur saw the challenge in Merlin’s eyes.

All right then.  Arthur was never one to shrink from a challenge.  He took the washcloth with a huff of exasperation to mask his uncertainty.  What did Merlin want here?  Arthur had an idea, but he wasn’t sure.  “Honestly, Merlin.  Where would you be without me?”

Merlin said nothing.  He merely sat forward and wrapped his arms around his knees so that Arthur could reach his back.  And, seeing no other reasonable course of action, Arthur kneeled behind the tub and dragged the wet washcloth across Merlin’s shoulders and down his back.  At first, Arthur covered his embarrassment with quips about how filthy Merlin was, but when Merlin didn’t respond he fell silent.  After a few passes, Arthur carefully dipped the washcloth in the water, using the few inches of space between Merlin’s back and the edge of the tub.  And then he washed Merlin’s shoulders again, running the washcloth up to the nape of Merlin’s neck and around the sides, squeezing the washcloth so that the water ran down Merlin’s chest.

Arthur could hear Merlin’s quickened breathing over the pounding of his own heart.  Emboldened, Arthur leaned forward to reach the cake of soap next to the tub and rubbed it a few times against the wet washcloth.  This time, he put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and tugged so that Merlin was leaning back against the edge of the tub again.  And then, sitting down low on his heels so that he was working only by feel, he reached around and soaped Merlin’s chest with the washcloth.  At first he kept to the center of Merlin’s chest, but then he leaned a little further forward and scrubbed across his nipple, letting his thumb catch on the hardened flesh but taking care not to linger.  He allowed himself a few passes on the pretense of actually getting Merlin clean, but then the washcloth dried out.  So Arthur reached all the way forward, intending to wet the washcloth in front of Merlin’s body.  It was hard to tell, since the washcloth covered Arthur’s hand, but he was pretty sure he had bumped against Merlin’s erect cock, bobbing just above the waterline, in the instant before Merlin grabbed his wrist.

It was probably only a few seconds that they were both frozen like that, but the moment seemed to last forever.  He had thought Merlin had invited him to touch, but perhaps he had misread Merlin’s cues?  Had Merlin really just wanted help washing his back?  In that moment while Merlin held his wrist, Arthur had no idea.

And then, still holding Arthur’s wrist, Merlin took the washcloth from Arthur’s hand and replaced it with the cake of soap.

“Use your hand.”  Merlin’s voice was barely a whisper, but Arthur was already leaning so far forward they were practically cheek to cheek.  Merlin pressed the soap into Arthur’s palm, rubbing it back and forth to lather it up, and leaned back as far as he could, so that his head was resting on Arthur’s shoulder.

Even then, Arthur wasn’t entirely sure what he should do.  It certainly seemed to Arthur like Merlin had issued him an engraved invitation, but in the moment Arthur felt paralyzed.  Reaching over Merlin’s shoulder like this, Arthur could see Merlin’s entire body stretched out before him, long and pale.  And even though he could see his own arm extending down into the tub, and Merlin’s hand still wrapped tightly around his wrist, it felt to Arthur as if his hand must belong to someone else.  How was it that his fingers were now mere inches away from Merlin’s erection?  He felt like he was standing on a precipice, with no idea how he got there.

Arthur didn’t know who moved first.  Did he reach for Merlin’s cock on his own, or did Merlin guide his hand?  It hardly mattered, because between one breath and the next he was touching Merlin, touching another man’s cock for the first time.  He was tentative at first, using just a fingertip, but then Merlin exhaled heavily and Arthur ran his entire hand along Merlin’s hardened length.  Arthur knew how to bring himself pleasure, but he had never done this for anyone else before.  He was used to being able to tell what felt good -- but this was like fighting blindfolded.  Fortunately, after Arthur tried a few experimental strokes, Merlin’s hand closed around his.  And together they found a rhythm that soon had Merlin lifting his hips, fucking into Arthur’s fist and breathing harshly in his ear. Arthur’s knees were killing him and he was hanging so far over the edge of the tub he thought he was about to fall in, but he didn’t dare stop, even after all the soap was rinsed off his hand.

“Unh.  Arthur.  Wait.  More soap.”  Merlin shifted quickly, kneeling up above the water line and lathering both of their hands again.  Arthur straightened up too, still kneeling behind Merlin, and reached around Merlin’s waist for his cock.  He wrapped his other arm around Merlin’s chest to hold him steady.  Merlin guided Arthur’s hand on his cock again, and raised his other arm, reaching behind him to cup the back of Arthur’s head.  Arthur buried his nose in Merlin’s neck and scooted as close to Merlin as he could, cursing the barrier of the tub between them and wishing desperately that he could press fully against Merlin’s back.

Up on his knees like this, Merlin could move more freely, and he pumped his hips in time with their joined hands.  The room was silent except for the sound of their breathing and the sloshing of the bath water.  Arthur looked over Merlin’s shoulder, fascinated as Merlin’s cock slipped between their hands.  He was dimly aware of his own arousal, but he was so transfixed by Merlin that it only barely registered.  Gradually, Merlin’s movements sped up and Arthur adjusted his hold across Merlin’s chest, running his thumb over Merlin’s nipple in the process.  Merlin gasped, and Arthur brushed his nipple again, and then began pinching and squeezing it.  It was all a frantic rush from there.  Merlin tightened his hand around Arthur’s and urged him to stroke even faster.  As pleasure overtook him, Merlin began writhing so violently that Arthur could barely keep hold of him.  And then, suddenly, stillness, as Arthur felt Merlin’s body go rigid, followed by the pulse of his release.  Arthur held his breath and pressed his lips to Merlin’s neck as the tremors ran through Merlin’s body, exhaling only when he felt Merlin go limp in his arms.

Arthur knew the instant Merlin came back to his senses.  Arthur had closed his eyes to stave off the wave of emotion that had hit him when Merlin reached his release.  He still had his lips against Merlin’s neck when he felt Merlin tense and pull away from his embrace, so he raised his head and let go of Merlin’s chest and softening prick.  Just like that, the spell was broken.  Merlin dunked in the cooling bath water and stood up.  Arthur handed him his drying sheet, wondering what he had done wrong, and what he could possibly say that wouldn’t sound ridiculous.  As it turned out, Arthur didn’t have a chance to say anything at all.

“Thanks Arthur.”  Merlin’s voice sounded strangled.  “I’ve got it from here.”  Merlin wrapped up and stepped out of the tub.  Arthur turned away, face burning, cock straining against his breeches, and went back to his desk.  A minute or two later, he heard Merlin leave.

***

Arthur didn’t sleep a wink that night.  All night long he replayed the memory of bringing off Merlin in the bath -- Merlin’s hot breath in his ear, the velvet soft skin of his prick contrasted with the coarseness of his body hair, the way his nipple hardened between Arthur’s thumb and forefinger, the way that Merlin trembled and shook in Arthur’s arms as he fell apart, the sound he made in the back of his throat.  Arthur knew it was a bit pathetic for a man his age, but he had never experienced that with someone else before, and even though the encounter hadn’t ended the way he would have liked, he wanted to savor the sensations.

And savor them he did.  Arthur was devastated by Merlin’s abrupt exit, but his disappointment did nothing to dampen his arousal.  So he took himself to bed and laid himself out on the sheets the way he wished Merlin would have done.  In Arthur’s imagination, Merlin hadn’t pulled away from his embrace, but had turned and kissed Arthur fully on the mouth, draping his arms over Arthur’s shoulders.  Arthur would have pulled him close, not caring that Merlin was drenched, and wrapped his arms around Merlin’s waist.  And they would have stood there kissing, Merlin’s naked thigh pressed against Arthur’s aching cock, until Arthur’s tunic and breeches were soaked.

Arthur imagined undressing while Merlin waited for him on the bed.  He had never done that, never displayed himself for another person, but he wanted to do that for Merlin.  He wanted to feel the heat of Merlin’s gaze on his naked body, wanted Merlin’s admiration and his lust.  He wanted to hear Merlin too.  Now that he knew what Merlin sounded like when he came, Arthur wanted to hear it over and over again.  Once he was naked, Arthur would have crawled over Merlin’s body, putting his hands and his lips everywhere he could reach.  Arthur pictured himself straddling Merlin, grinding his arse down on Merlin’s prick, which would be perking up again by now.  Merlin would reach for him, holding his hips and urging him forward until Arthur’s cock was right there, right at Merlin’s mouth.  Merlin would moisten his lips, and then he would lick, right under the head of Arthur’s cock, right where Arthur rubbed when he knew he was about to come.  And then Merlin would take him in his mouth, and run his hot, wet tongue all over Arthur’s cock.  What must that feel like?  Arthur could only imagine that it would be heavenly.

But he wouldn’t come just then.  Not like that.  He would want Merlin to hold him, like he had held Merlin.  Would Merlin want that?  Would he wrap himself around Arthur’s back, stroke his cock, whisper in his ear?  Would he bring Arthur to the edge, take him over, and then soothe him as he came down?  That’s what Arthur wished for as he spilled over his own fist.

But when it was done it was just Arthur on his bed, a puddle of come cooling on his belly and on the sheets next to him.  Merlin wasn’t draped over him the way he had imagined -- Merlin had left, had probably never intended for Arthur to touch him at all but had just let himself get carried away.  Arthur, sap that he was, had been moved nearly to tears by Merlin’s pleasure.  Merlin, meanwhile, was practically gone before it was over.  Arthur may have been inexperienced, but he knew post-coital awkwardness when he saw it.

The rest of the night was an exercise in self-recrimination and self-abuse.  Arthur hadn’t thought he had been imagining something developing between him and Merlin, but obviously Merlin hadn’t really wanted Arthur’s attentions.  Had Arthur been too forward?  Maybe Merlin had wanted Arthur’s attentions, but just not yet?  Had he ruined his chances by pouncing?  Had he pounced?  Hadn’t Merlin pounced on him?  Whose hand moved first?  What was that about washing Merlin’s back anyway?  That couldn’t have been a serious request, could it?  What if it was?  Maybe Merlin had been teasing him, trying to see if a king would kneel to wash a peasant?  Maybe Merlin was mortified that he had become aroused, regretted that he had succumbed to his desires in the moment?  How could Arthur show Merlin that Arthur had wanted him to succumb?  How could Arthur show Merlin that he wanted Merlin to succumb again?

Round and round he went, and when he tired of gaming out the possible explanations for Merlin’s actions, he was lured in again by the memory of how it felt to hold Merlin in his arms.  And then plunged back into doubt and despair.  The fourth time Arthur climaxed, right before dawn, he had no seed left and it was frankly rather painful.

***

Arthur felt like he had only just dropped off to sleep when he was awakened by the noise in the courtyard.

“Two, four, six, eight!  Rule with love and not with hate!  Three, five, seven, nine!  Having magic’s not a crime!”

Arthur groaned.  The Druids had been relentless these last several days, shouting and banging at first light, and the chant he and Leon had helped write had become a favorite.  At first, Arthur had taken a perverse pride in his contributions to composing the chant, but somewhere around the thousandth repetition the charm had worn off.  Annoyed as he was about the racket, Arthur needed to be ready early today anyway.  Annis and her court were due this morning to begin negotiations.

The border dispute between their two kingdoms had been going on for years, and Arthur hoped this visit would settle it once and for all.  Camelot was lucky not to be at war with Caerleon right now, given that unfortunate business with Arthur’s uncle Agravaine killing King Caerleon himself in an unauthorized raid the previous year.  Even now, Arthur blamed himself for not having recognized that Agravaine wished to start a war to advance his own interests.  Arthur had stripped Agravaine of his lands and title, and banished him from the kingdom.  That had seemed to placate Annis at the time, but Arthur had no idea how onerous her demands would be at this meeting they had arranged to negotiate a treaty.  Whatever the origins of the border dispute itself, Agravaine’s treachery had clearly put Camelot in the wrong. Arthur could only hope that Annis was not disposed to war.  He had resolved to avoid that at all costs.

Arthur rushed through breakfast and allowed George to dress him.  Say what you will about the man, Arthur thought, he certainly understood the subtle nuances of Arthur’s wardrobe.  Arthur couldn’t wear anything too lavish, so as not to appear overly eager to impress.  But he did need to appear prosperous and imposing.  George dressed him in close-fitting black breeches tucked into shiny black leather boots, a finely woven red silk tunic left partially unlaced, and a thick black leather belt with a silver buckle.  Around his neck he wore a heavy medallion that had once belonged to his mother.  Later he would wear his sword belt as well, and a long black coat.  He didn’t often wear Uther’s crown, but he would wear it at the feast tonight, with more formal attire.

A short while later a messenger arrived to announce the approach of the delegation from Caerleon, and Arthur went down to the courtyard to meet his guests.  He was exhausted, but also well practiced at pushing through fatigue.

If someone had told him when this whole protest nonsense got started weeks ago that the camp would still be there when Annis arrived, Arthur never would have believed it.  He thought back to that first council meeting, when he had been sure they would be able to evict the Druids for violating the sanitation code, and how quickly his hopes had been dashed.  Since then, the camp had practically become a permanent fixture of the citadel.  And over the last few weeks it had steadily expanded from its original boundaries.  Arthur had never caught them at it, but he was quite certain that every couple of nights the Druids added a few more barrels and boards to the perimeter fence.  What had once taken up perhaps one eighth the area of the courtyard now extended practically its full width and all the way back to the rear stairs of the keep.  Arthur was convinced that one morning soon he would wake up to find that the protesters had even appropriated the well.  As it was now, residents of the castle could only approach the well from two sides.

The camp itself was a tightly packed jumble of tents and bedrolls, oilcloths and clotheslines and improvised curtains.  There was still an area reserved for meetings and performances, closest to the main stairway, although spectators often spilled over onto the stairway itself.  At the rear, near the keep, was the communal kitchen, the healer’s tent, and an area the Druids used to store dry goods.  They even had tables set aside for processing the castle leftovers that were delivered twice a day, and regular work shifts that coincided with these deliveries so that none of the perishables went to waste.  Over the last week or so, the Druids had consolidated their sleeping quarters toward the center of the camp.  The floor space around the perimeter was reserved for chanting and for even more of the impromptu performances for which the protesters had become well known in Camelot.  Will and Merlin were no longer the only headliners; Arthur had discovered that a number of the camp residents had a flair for the dramatic.

In addition, artisans of various kinds had flooded to the camp in recent days, and they were now displaying their wares along the rail of the makeshift fence enclosing the camp.  Just yesterday, Arthur had seen that some of these artisans were making and selling decorated tunics.  The tunics themselves were unremarkable -- they were hastily sewn together, and made from the same crude home spun linen that many of the peasants used for their work clothes.  But the tunics had been painted with the words “Occupy Camelot” in dark letters.  Others were stitched with close replicas of the Pendragon crest, but with a heavy black line embroidered over the top as if to cross it out.  Arthur had witnessed residents of the lower town who had come to the courtyard to observe the goings on at the camp buying such tunics and putting them on over their regular clothes.  Business was brisk.

Arthur surveyed all of this as he stood on the stairs with Leon and the council, in the moments before the arrival of Annis and her delegation.  And he realized, rather too late, that they had all become accustomed to this eyesore.  Not that he hadn’t considered how all this might look to a visitor -- he had spent the last week trying to raise the subject of Caerleon’s impending visit with Merlin while he bathed.  But anything he could have said would have sounded either like he was ordering that the camp be cleared -- a violation of what Arthur had come to understand as his obligations as a host -- or attacking Merlin’s abilities as camp leader.  Because, Merlin’s protestations to the contrary notwithstanding, anyone could see that Merlin was the camp leader and Arthur knew that he would take personally any suggestion that the camp was an unsightly blemish on the face of Camelot.  Thus, despite the diplomatic embarrassment that was certain to follow, Arthur had said nothing and the camp remained in the courtyard.

And now, Arthur could see just how bad it looked.  Never mind the hodge podge of tents and other possessions.  The ugly truth was that he had the functional equivalent of a peasant village set up right outside his front door, with all the noise and mess and unpleasantness that entailed.  Although a group of protesters had been chanting and banging pots since Arthur woke up, it was early enough that some of the protesters were still rousing.  He watched a young man emerge from one of the tents and urinate into a pot.  Nearby, one of the older men hawked and spit into a bowl.  A woman still in her nightgown pulled some clothes off a line and disappeared back into her tent, presumably to dress.  Elsewhere around the camp Arthur saw a group eating breakfast and another group carrying dirty dishes back toward the kitchen.  A goat tethered to a barrel was eating out of a rubbish bin.  He heard raised voices coming from a small gathering engaged in a discussion of some kind, and the steady drumbeat of the group still chanting.

And then the voices of the Druids were drowned out by the sound of the heralds announcing the arrival of Arthur’s visitors.

Afterwards, Arthur was surprised to realize that it had actually gone pretty well.  Camelot always put on a good show to welcome royal visitors, and although the protesters had shown remarkable single-mindedness in their devotion to perpetual noise making, it was still true that they were all simple peasants who had never witnessed the arrival of a royal delegation.  Arthur stood on the stairs with Leon at his right, and flanked by his council.  His knights, in their Pendragon red capes, were massed behind him.  Sentries stood at perfect attention all along the portico.  Heralds and flag bearers were stationed on all the battlements.  The camp in the courtyard did prevent Annis and her delegation from making a direct approach to Arthur on the stairs.  Instead, they rode single file, and had to make a sharp right turn around the well.  But Arthur thought that was rather an impressive display in and of itself, with the riders negotiating the turn precisely and coming to a halt in a straight line.  It certainly impressed the protesters, at least enough that there was no danger Arthur’s greetings wouldn’t be heard over the usual noise emanating from the camp.  Most of the protesters were standing up now too, pushing toward the perimeter to watch Arthur perform, for a change.

And perform he did.  When Queen Annis dismounted, Arthur was there to take her hand, which he raised up over both their heads in acknowledgment of the cheers from the crowd.  And then, taking a page from Lancelot’s book, Arthur bowed his head and brought Annis’s hand to his lips.  It was a Frankish custom, not widely practiced in the Five Kingdoms, but Arthur had seen Lancelot use it to very good effect.  Queen Annis was far too composed to react visibly, either to Arthur’s gesture or to the unusual crowd, but Arthur thought he might have detected a chink in her armor.

It was only after official greetings had been exchanged and gifts given that Annis inquired whether Camelot was perhaps holding a faire.  Arthur seized the opportunity to explain that he was hosting a delegation of Druids, who were suing for peace with Camelot and had come to stay in the courtyard to facilitate their negotiations.  It was even pretty close to the truth.

That night at the feast, Arthur had occasion to expand on this.

“I see it’s rather a large group of Druids you’re hosting, my lord.”  The meal had concluded some time ago, and Arthur and Annis were conversing at the head table.

“Yes, yes it is rather a large delegation. They don’t conduct diplomacy in the ordinary fashion.”

“And it seems they prefer to sleep in the open.”

“Yes, my lady.  I believe the Druids prefer to see the stars at night.”  Arthur had no idea whether this was true, but it sounded plausible.  He managed to sidestep the question of why they had camped in the courtyard rather than the nearby woods by launching into a detailed explanation of the Druids’ organizational structure.  He even expounded on the supposed benefits of collective decision making to a skeptical Annis.

“I believe, my lady, that if you were to ask them the Druids would say that garnering the approval of most of the community before an important decision is made is time well spent. They would claim that there’s much less effort expended later in explaining or defending the decision, and people are more disposed to make the situation work because they feel they had a say in the process.”

“Fascinating. Tell me, my lord, is this how you reach decisions in Camelot as well?”

Arthur deflected. Caerleon had been a brutal man, little more than a warlord really, disinclined to listen to anyone, never mind the peasants unfortunate enough to live within the territories he claimed. The mere fact that Camelot and Caerleon were not now at war, that Annis was here at his table, led Arthur to believe that she did not share her late husband’s temper. But he doubted she was one for committee meetings and consensus.

“I hope, my lady, that the poor condition of the road did not detain you.”

“It was a minor inconvenience.  But we did come upon an unusual scene outside Basseleg Priory.  The monks appeared to be parading along the road as we came by.  At first we thought it was some religious celebration, but then we saw that they were marching in circles, and carrying banners.”

“Marching in circles?  How odd.”

“Yes, my lord, I thought so too, particularly since I believe the priory is responsible for maintaining that section of the road.  The monks were on parade, but none of them were re-laying the cobblestones.  In fact, I think they actually took offense when my entourage and I rode past their parade.  I believe they called us ‘scabs.’”

“Most unusual.”

“Indeed.  I was also surprised to hear some of the monks shouting about ‘occupying’ Camelot.  But I couldn’t imagine that your own subjects would be encouraging Caerleon to attack Camelot.”

“Certainly not.  Perhaps they meant it as a figure of speech.”

“That may be so, but I thought it rather an ill-considered turn of phrase, given the unfortunate events of last year.”

And there it was -- the moment Arthur had been dreading -- the first mention of Caerleon’s demise.  There wasn’t a single book of royal protocol in Monmouth’s library that advised how to offer appropriate condolences to a monarch for the execution of her troglodyte husband by one’s traitorous uncle.  Arthur had checked.

“Terribly unfortunate, my lady.  I know it does nothing to bring back your beloved king” -- and here Arthur was very pleased with himself that his tone of voice didn’t make a liar of him -- “but please accept my most sincere personal apologies for the unlawful actions of my uncle.  I hope that these negotiations we are about to undertake can bring about a true and lasting peace between our two kingdoms.”

That wasn’t so bad.

That night, Arthur was tormented by erotic dreams.  With all the pomp and ceremony surrounding Caerleon’s arrival, Arthur hadn’t seen Merlin all day.  He somehow thought that if he could catch even a glimpse of Merlin, the feverish distraction he felt would dissipate and he could return to normal.  But Merlin was nowhere to be found, and thus Arthur was a slave to his own imagination.  It seemed that every time he let his mind wander for even a moment, he returned to thoughts of the night before.  Even in the midst of his own welcoming speech at the feast that evening, he had caught himself remembering the way the skin of Merlin’s prick had tightened under his hand just before Merlin came.  Then, as soon as Arthur went to sleep, Merlin invaded his dreams as well, coupling with Arthur in every manner imaginable, his face never fully coming into focus.

So when Arthur woke from his first sleep, it was to damp sleep hose and a feeling of sticky fatigue.  He drank some water, pulled on some clean clothes and his boots, and went out for a walk in the courtyard.  Was he hoping to find Merlin?  Hoping not to?  He couldn’t say.  He walked around the perimeter of the camp a few times, and saw that there were a few Druids stirring, but none of them was Merlin.  Arthur felt an overwhelming sense of urgency, knowing that Merlin was right there, asleep in one of those tents.  He sat on the stairs for long minutes, debating with himself if he should try to find Merlin.  There was nothing -- except common sense -- to prevent him from searching the tents.  It would be easy to peek into each one, looking for a shock of dark hair on the pillow.  But what would he do if he found him?

He couldn’t answer that question, and so finally he went back to his chambers and dozed fitfully until dawn.

***

The next day, before the formal negotiations began, Arthur and Leon escorted Annis and her champion, Derian, to the practice grounds.  As a gesture of good will, Derian was going to participate in training with Camelot’s knights.  As they exited the main gates, Arthur noticed Merlin and one of the other protesters, Matthew, struggling with the dung cart over near the public privies.  Arthur excused himself, asking Leon to proceed without him, and went over to investigate.

As he approached, Arthur saw that the rear axle of the cart was broken, and that the two long handles used to pull the cart had been snapped off.  Merlin and Matthew were trying to drag the cart closer to the privies, with little success.  It had been hardly more than twenty four hours since Arthur had last seen Merlin, but it felt like it had been days.  Arthur was relieved and mortified in equal measure.  Relieved because he felt an almost physical need to see Merlin; mortified because good God, here he was.  And the sight of him left Arthur totally flustered.  He had been so consumed by his fantasies and memories the day before that seeing Merlin here now, fully clothed and in public, was jarring -- as if Merlin only truly existed in Arthur’s imagination, naked and on the brink of orgasm.

“What’s happened here?” Arthur asked, trying to remember how to talk to Merlin in public.

Merlin looked uncomfortable.  Matthew spoke up.  “We don’t know, sire.  We’ve been stowing it under some bushes near the stream, and when we came to get it this morning, we found it like this.”

“Well, you’re not going to get very far with it in that condition.  I’ll speak to Sir Leon about securing another one for you.”  Arthur tried to sound business like.  “That cart is ruined.  If we don’t find who is responsible, we’ll be deducting the cost of replacing it from the payments you’re receiving for cleaning the privies.”

“Arthur, I think --”  Merlin had finally found his voice.

Arthur couldn’t stand another moment.  He wanted to break this horrible tension between them -- grab Merlin and drag him back to his chambers, kiss him and be kissed in return.  Not talk about this nonsense with the dung cart.  How was Arthur supposed to stand here and pretend to have an ordinary conversation?  How did people do this?  Did sex make everyone this crazy?  “Not now, Merlin.  I have guests to attend to.”  Arthur hurried off in the direction of the practice grounds, yelling back over his shoulder.  “I thought I told you to get someone else to do that job!”

A few hours later, after Derian had thrashed all of Arthur’s knights in a most humiliating fashion, and very nearly thrashed Arthur himself, Arthur once again escorted Annis across the courtyard.

Arthur had grown used to the Druid boy, Mordred, shadowing his movements and acting as a lookout for the protesters.  As soon as Mordred saw Arthur and Annis approach the gates, he ran off ahead.  Thus, when Arthur and Annis reached the Druid camp, the protesters were chanting in full voice.

This time, the Druids were divided into groups, with men on one side of the enclosure and women on the other side.  The men shouted “King Arthur, see the light!  Magic is a civil right!” and the women answered “We are witches, not your bitches!”

Arthur was used to ignoring the hijinks in the courtyard by now and would have been just as happy proceeding directly indoors to lunch, but this was all new to Annis.  She stopped to observe.

“King Arthur, I thought you told me that these Druids were here to sue for peace with Camelot.”

“Yes, that’s correct my lady.”

“And yet they’re sowing discord, right here in your courtyard.”

“Oh, I would hardly call it that.  It’s just a bit of free expression.”

“Free expression?”

“Yes.  Here in Camelot even the common people have a right to air their grievances.  Generally I prefer if they schedule an audience during common pleas.  I can’t say that I encourage gatherings like this one, but they are not expressly prohibited under our laws.  These people are here as my guests.”

“And you tolerate this kind of insubordination?”

“I don’t enjoy it, but I prefer it to the alternative.”  Annis looked puzzled, as if the alternative was peace and quiet, and not full on insurrection.  “You see, by permitting a protest of this kind I’m actually demonstrating the full scope of my hegemony.”  Arthur was suddenly very grateful for Merlin’s bath time disquisitions on the symbiotic relationship between power and subversion.  “These peasants can sleep in my courtyard and eat my food and insult my person, and by allowing this to continue what I really show is that their disapproval is ultimately subject to my control.  Whether or not they’re aware of it, their little rebellion has been co-opted.”  This revelation had been particularly pleasing to Arthur when Merlin had explained it.  “Nothing that happens here in Camelot is outside my reach.”

Annis looked intrigued.

“Meanwhile, the vast majority of the peasantry, who might otherwise be prone to more disruptive forms of political organization and protest, are pacified by the knowledge that their king is a tolerant one, and therefore they are unlikely to support a rebellion against rule by an absolute monarch.  There will always be malcontents, of course, but when most of the populace is indifferent to change, the real troublemakers aren’t ever able to gain much traction.  And, by staying alert to the forces of subversion, the instruments of state control are forced to adapt as well.  No king should allow the apparatuses of power to stagnate.”

“This explains the monks of Basseleg Priory as well, doesn’t it?”  Annis caught on quickly.

“Absolutely.  Wouldn’t you rather have the subversive elements in your kingdom marching around in circles rather than staging an armed revolt?  I can tolerate some tardy road repairs if that’s what helps to keep the peace.”

Arthur glanced over to the protesters behind him.  Most of the women were now naked to the waist, and had the words “Occupy Camelot” written across their breasts in greasepaint.

“And I take it that this too is a testament to your far reaching powers?”  Annis was smiling.

“Of course.  The Druid Women’s Circle seeks to encourage discourse regarding the ways in which male privilege is enacted, even within an egalitarian collective.”  Merlin had asked Arthur to proofread the Women’s Circle mission statement a few nights earlier.  “They use partial nudity as a way to confront the patriarchy and to demonstrate the pervasiveness of female subjugation in our society.  I believe their ultimate goal is to promote freedom, equality, and the comprehensive development of the person irrespective of gender.”

“Those are laudable goals, wouldn’t you say?”

“I think that any forward looking kingdom has to recognize the personhood of all of its subjects.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur could see that Gwaine had stripped to the waist and joined the women in some sort of circle dance.  He edged Annis toward the stairs.  “I could have them all arrested for violating our public decency laws, but that would probably just cause the situation to escalate.  And I can’t have Gwaine taking off any more of his clothes.”  Arthur waved his hand dismissively.  “They’re not really doing any harm here.”

Annis looked at Arthur with open admiration.  “There is something about you, Arthur Pendragon.  Something which gives me hope for us all.”

***

Once the negotiations got underway, Arthur didn’t have time for anything else.  If he wasn’t elbow to elbow with Annis and her chief advisors, studying the maps and haggling over treaty language, he was meeting in private with his council to consider the latest proposals from Caerleon and to formulate Camelot’s counterproposals.  There was a feast nearly every night.  And there was one very memorable private dinner during which Annis proposed that they should just marry and bring the tedium of peacemaking to a close.  Arthur was tired of all the talk as well, and surprised by how thoroughly he was enjoying Annis’s company.  Never mind the fact that Annis had sons who could succeed them both, thus relieving Arthur of the pressure to produce an heir.  It had been tempting.  But Arthur reminded Annis that even if the two of them were ready to come to terms, they would still need the support and cooperation of their councilors and nobles.  Better to let the diplomats have their say.  Process was everything.  And Annis seemed to understand Arthur’s demurral -- even the reasons Arthur didn’t articulate.

To be honest, Arthur was grateful for the distraction his visitors provided.  Those first few days after his encounter with Merlin he had been positively insane -- some toxic combination of fatigue, desire, and stress -- but immersing himself in his duties had brought him back to his senses.  He may have just had his first sexual experience with another person, but he was also a fully grown man with a kingdom to run, not a callow prince with nothing more pressing to do than sigh and write bad poetry.  He couldn’t ignore his responsibilities and, what’s more, he didn’t want to.  These negotiations were too important to the future of Camelot.  And so he put his head down and did his work, saving his thoughts of Merlin for bedtime.  He missed Merlin coming to his chambers for his evening bath, but they had barely seen each other in days.  With so much unspoken between them, Arthur didn’t feel that he could just go down to the courtyard to fetch Merlin the way he had at first.  And the few times Arthur saw him pass by in the courtyard, Merlin seemed harried.

Finally, after nearly a week of round the clock diplomacy, Camelot and Caerleon reached an accord.  There was a signing ceremony in the throne room, and a final feast in the evening.  After a private lunch and farewell, during which Arthur promised to return the visit the following year, Arthur sent Annis and her delegation on their way with almost none of the formalities that had accompanied their arrival.  He escorted his visitors to the main gates where their horses were waiting, Annis wished him luck in concluding his negotiations with the Druids, and she and her advisors departed.

It had been four days since Arthur had so much as set foot outside, so it came as some surprise, as he crossed the courtyard on his way back into the castle, to see the state of the Druid camp.  It had never been orderly, but it had never been squalid either.  The first thing that hit him when he approached the perimeter of the camp now was the smell – rotting food and human waste.  Just a quick glance at the camp confirmed that there hadn’t been any organized garbage removal in days.  Even more shocking, though, was the quiet.  Over the past several weeks, Arthur had become accustomed to all sorts of activity around the camp -- protests and chanting, of course, but also meetings and discussion groups, cooking and food handling, washing up, and the like.  At this hour, Arthur would normally expect a full complement of chanters and drummers, in addition to the low hum of discussion.  There were certainly plenty of people in the camp, yet there was no coordinated activity of any kind going on.  Arthur found the aimlessness of the protesters positively unnerving.  He had been preoccupied for days -- how long had it been like this?

The other thing that seemed odd was that the area near the main castle entrance that had been reserved for performances was now mostly taken up by vendors of various kinds.  As he made his way around the encampment, Arthur saw several different peddlers selling variations on the “Occupy Camelot” tunics that had appeared the week before.  But now there were other trinkets for sale as well -- “Occupy Camelot” placards; trenchers and tankards bearing the “crossed out” Pendragon crest; and small “King Arthur” dolls made of straw and scraps of red cloth.  And there were food vendors.  From the outset, the residents of the camp had shared their meager provisions among themselves.  Once Camelot began donating its leftovers, that food was distributed freely as well.  Arthur was shocked to see meat pies from the feast the night before now being sold, to camp residents and people from the lower town as well.

Arthur went to speak to the meat pie vendor.  It was the stringy haired Druid who had played an evil sorcerer in the last skit Arthur had seen.

“What is going on here?”

“Ah!  King Arthur!  It is an honor to have you here at my meat pie stand.  I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.  My name is Cedric.  How may I be of service to you?”

“Perhaps you can explain to me what my meat pies are doing for sale at your meat pie stand?”

“Begging your pardon, sire.  I thought these meat pies were donated by Camelot’s kitchens.”

“Yes, donated.  But now you have them up for sale.”

“Well, sire, you’ll forgive me for saying, but there weren’t any conditions placed on these meat pies when we received them.  With all due respect, I believe the right to dispose of these meat pies has already been conveyed.”

“Look here, Cedric.  I’m not going to argue with you over who owns these meat pies.  They were given to the occupants of the camp for their own consumption and it is unacceptable for you to be selling them.  Now, where is Merlin?”

“Merlin?  I believe he’s asleep, sire.  I am the acting camp leader this afternoon.  Perhaps I can assist you.”

Arthur declined Cedric’s offer and excused himself before Cedric could detain him any further.  He went off in search of Merlin, knowing full well that Merlin wouldn’t be asleep.  He walked around the perimeter of the camp towards the back, where the Druids stored their food.  There he found Sir Leon with two of the castle guards.

“Good afternoon, sire.  I was just about to come find you.”

“Likewise.  It seems we have something of a situation here.  I just found a Druid selling meat pies.”

“Indeed, sire.  I’m afraid it’s worse than that.  Over the last several days there have been increased complaints of rats and other vermin in the courtyard.  The guards and I have just finished an inspection of the food storage and preparation areas of the camp and we’ve found numerous violations of the sanitation code.”  Leon paused, as if anticipating Arthur’s objection.  “I am aware, sire, that my authority as public safety officer does not extend to crown lands.  However, I am duty bound to inform you that I believe this entire area poses an imminent health hazard to all the occupants of the citadel, yourself included.”

“Well, it certainly could use a bit of tidying up around here,” Arthur said, glancing over at the mess.  Surely it wasn’t all that bad.  “Where are the kitchen girls?  There’s usually someone back here.”  In fact, there was almost always a work detail in this area of the camp -- either receiving food, preparing it for consumption, or cleaning up -– but Arthur didn’t see anyone from the camp nearby.

“If I may, sire.”  Leon called out to the guards, who began uncovering storage barrels, revealing piles of grain teeming with insects.  Leon also pointed out trails of rat feces underneath the food preparation tables, overflowing garbage receptacles, and nearly an entire cooked leg of lamb that had been left out in the sun to rot.  There had been lamb at the farewell feast for the delegation from Caerleon last night, but apparently no one from the camp had been on duty to receive it.

“It’s not just the kitchen, sire.  It also appears that, despite our agreement with the Druids a few weeks ago, the public privies haven’t been cleaned in nearly a week.  The dung cart and garbage cart we provided to the Druids are nowhere to be found.  And I have yet to inspect the living areas of the camp, but I suspect we will find that the conditions there are unhygienic as well.”  Leon’s distaste was evident on his face as he climbed over the rail of the fence surrounding the Druid camp to stand next to Arthur.

“I don’t know what’s happened here, sire, but it’s deteriorated quite dramatically.”  Leon lowered his voice.  “I’ve spoken to Sir Kay and he says that the Druids have requested an audience at common pleas tomorrow.  I believe you may need to order them to clear the camp.”

“Leon, you know I can’t do that.”  If it had been as simple as Arthur merely ordering them to clear the camp, he would have done that weeks ago.

“Sire, I’m afraid there may not be much of a choice.  It’s only a matter of time before some of these people fall ill.”  Leon could be overly fastidious at times, but Arthur knew he wouldn’t make such a statement lightly.

“You may be right, Sir Leon, but if that’s true then we’re going to have to convince them it’s for their own good.  But first I want some answers.”

It felt strange, after having the camp in his courtyard for nearly a month, for Arthur to finally walk through it.  Before, he had always stayed outside the perimeter.  Now he and Sir Leon, trailed by the two guards, began threading their way carefully between the tents and lean-tos, which were almost directly up against one another.  Up close, Arthur could see all the accumulated detritus of nearly a month of habitation underfoot.  Leon had unsheathed his sword and was using the tip to move obstacles aside.  Periodically, he would point to a pile of garbage or an overflowing chamber pot.

When they found Merlin, he was right in the center of the camp, sitting cross legged on a blanket in a tiny clearing surrounded by tents.  Gwaine, Will, Freya, and a few other Druids whom Arthur had seen attending committee meetings over the last few weeks were huddled with him, and the group of them were conferring over stacks of parchment.  Arthur paused for a moment before he spoke.  He hadn’t been this close to Merlin in practically a week, and it surprised him that Merlin’s face wasn’t quite as he had remembered it.

“Merlin!  I’ve been looking all over for you!”  Arthur knew it was ridiculous, but he was relieved to have actually found Merlin, alive and well.  His imagination had run away with him over the last twenty minutes or so, and he had been entertaining increasingly dire and extreme explanations for why the camp had fallen into such squalor.  Perhaps Merlin was ill or injured.  Arthur could hardly bear to consider it, but perhaps Merlin had left the camp in the last few days, while Arthur was occupied with Annis.

“Arthur!”  Merlin seemed pleased to see Arthur, but beneath his smile he looked haggard.  “What on earth are you doing here?”  Merlin stood quickly, but there was so little room on the blanket that he nearly toppled into one of the nearby tents.  As it was, Arthur and Leon were only just able to squeeze into the small clearing.  The two guards behind Arthur had to stand in between two clotheslines.

“This is my courtyard, you know.”  Arthur couldn’t resist a little teasing.  “But never mind that.  What is going on here?  Why is everyone lying about?  And why is this place such a cesspit?”  As if on cue, just then a goat with a mouthful of carrots blundered into the clearing, stepping over the seated Druids and tracking mud all over the blanket.  Suddenly all of them were on their feet, trying to scoop up scattered parchment and avoid getting trod on, while shooing the goat away.  Two tents were knocked down in the ensuing chaos, and Leon stepped rather heavily on Arthur’s foot.  Finally the guards were able to catch and remove the goat and a semblance of order was restored.

“What has happened down here?”  Now that he was no longer concerned for Merlin’s personal wellbeing, Arthur’s irritation surfaced.  He had trusted Merlin to keep the situation in the courtyard under control, but no sooner did he turn his back for a few days to deal with important matters of state than all hell broke loose.

“It’s not his fault!”  Merlin didn’t even have a chance to answer before Will jumped to his defense.  “While you’ve been faffing about with your new girlfriend, we’ve been dealing with that thug of a privy cleaner, Kanen.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I suppose you forgot to tell us when we agreed to clean the loos that he’s privy cleaner to the king.  He says he’s the only one who can haul the garbage as well, and that we’ve been interfering with his business.  He’s the one who smashed the cart.  Ask ginger here.”

“Leon, what do you know about this?”

“I made inquiries after the dung cart was damaged, sire.  I was unable to prove that Kanen was responsible.  But I did procure another dung cart for the camp residents to use.”

“Well, he smashed that one too.”

“You should have reported it.”  Leon was peeved as well -- this was his jurisdiction.

“There was no point!  He would have just come after us.”

Arthur stepped in before Leon and Will could continue their bickering.  “I thought we settled this at common pleas.”

“As did I, sire.”  Leon turned to address Will and the others.  “Kanen appeared at common pleas two weeks ago, claiming that the arrangement we had made to remit the cart tax to the protesters in exchange for cleaning the public privies outside the gates was a violation of his royal warrant.  He also claimed exclusive rights to garbage removal from within the walls of the citadel.  King Arthur and I consulted Kanen’s warrant and determined that it had expired upon King Uther’s death, and had never been renewed.  And it had never covered garbage hauling.  The King informed Kanen that since he no longer possessed an exclusive right to clean Camelot’s public privies, there had been no legal impediment to conferring temporary responsibility for the privies outside the gates to the Druid protesters.  The King advised Kanen that he should apply for a new warrant as soon as the Druids departed, and stated that Kanen’s previous years of service as royal privy cleaner would stand him in good stead when his application came up for approval.  As for the removal of castle garbage, that was to remain the responsibility of the castle servants.  That should have been the end of it.”

“Well, it wasn’t.  He smashed the dung carts, and even when we went down there with our own shovels and buckets he and his henchmen threatened to toss us in the cesspit.  He won’t let us use the privy, and he won’t let us clean it either.  It’s not safe to go alone in the woods.  So if there isn’t someone to go with you, you’re stuck using the pot, day and night – it’s disgusting.”  Arthur was well aware of Will’s preference for eliminating in the woods.  “No one fancies hauling the garbage to the dump without a cart.  Not with him and his lot hanging around.  So we can’t take out the garbage either.”  Will folded his arms over his chest, practically daring Arthur to come up with a solution to this problem.

“Merlin, I thought I told you to let my guards deal with the criminals.”  Merlin just shook his head, seemingly unable to look Arthur in the eye, and once again Will interceded.

“Are you mental?  Your goons are no better than Kanen’s.  They’d just as soon see us drown in our own shit.”

“And it looks like that’s exactly what you’re doing,” Arthur snapped.  He had had it up to here with Will and his insolence.  With great effort, he took a deep breath and counted silently to ten.  “All right, I think I understand the situation with the privies.  Now, would any of you care to explain why there’s rotting food in the kitchen area, and why I found that character Cedric selling meat pies?”

This time Freya was the one to volunteer an answer.  Arthur didn’t think he’d heard her speak since that very first demonstration almost a month ago.

“It just got to be too much, sire!  All those meals to prepare and serve every day.  And none of the newcomers willing to help, just here for a free lunch.  The rest of the kitchen girls were tired of it too.  Seems you can claim to be an egalitarian collective and it’s still just the womenfolk doing the cooking and serving and cleaning.”  Freya scowled meaningfully at Merlin, Will and Gwaine.  Clearly this was an old argument.  “A few days ago Mary and I told everyone there wouldn’t be any more food services and they would just have to help themselves to whatever the castle provided.”

“Unfortunately,” Gwaine added, “some people took that to mean that they could help themselves to as much as they liked, and perhaps turn a profit.  The meat pies are very popular.”

He had heard enough.  It was time for action.  “Sir Leon, I want Kanen arrested.  The rest of you are with me.  We need to fix this.”

***

Later, in the bath, Arthur thought that he really should have seen it coming.

As soon as Arthur informed them that the courtyard posed an imminent health hazard, Merlin, who had been uncharacteristically silent up until then, began babbling about how it was all his fault.  Gwaine and Will tried to shush him, but Merlin seemed intent on shouldering all the blame himself.  Arthur, recognizing that much of what had happened was the result of apparently poor advice he had given to Merlin, privately thought he was at least as culpable.  Finally, though, Arthur silenced all three of them and explained that he was going to give the protesters a chance to redeem themselves.  After discussing it, they all agreed that Arthur’s proposal was fair.  Merlin, Will, and Gwaine joined Arthur on the stairs facing the Druid camp.  Gwaine whistled through his fingers to get everyone’s attention, and Arthur used Will’s funnel to amplify his voice.  He announced that Camelot had been very tolerant of its Druid guests, but that conditions in the camp had become dangerously unsanitary.  He informed the protesters that they had until dusk the following day to clean the courtyard, at which time Sir Leon and the guards would perform an inspection.  If the conditions in the courtyard had not improved by then, the camp would be declared unfit for human habitation and the protesters would be asked to vacate the premises.  When he finished, Arthur summoned the guards and told them to bring carts and brooms and buckets to the courtyard for the Druids’ use.

Arthur wasn’t sure what sort of reaction he had expected, but he certainly hadn’t imagined his announcement would be met with such indifference.  Most of the protesters appeared to have listened while he spoke, but afterwards they merely resumed what they had been doing.  Only Merlin, Will, Gwaine, and the others who had been at the meeting in the center of the camp, seemed to respond to Arthur’s ultimatum.  And even they seemed a bit uncertain as to how to tackle the mess.

A few minutes later, though, the guards arrived with a couple of carts, and Merlin dragged one over to the perimeter of the camp, calling to the camp residents to come and empty their chamber pots.  Gwaine and Freya took the other cart and headed back to the kitchen area, and Will picked up a broom and began sweeping ineffectually around the edges of the camp.

Arthur watched the proceedings from the top of the stairs, where it appeared to him that the only other camp residents who had truly sprung into action were the trinket vendors.  They began hawking loudly and immediately lowered their prices, recognizing that they would need to unload their inventories by the end of the next day.

Merlin made slow progress around the tent city, in a scene reminiscent of the protest that had resulted in his first bath in Arthur’s chambers.  It seemed that however lackadaisical the protesters had become about the overall conditions in the courtyard, most of them were still eager to empty their chamber pots.  Merlin had just brought the cart around to the front of the camp, where Cedric was still selling meat pies, when Arthur heard raised voices.  He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it appeared that Cedric was blocking Merlin’s way.  When he saw Cedric shove Merlin, he hurried down the stairs.

Arthur had had similar experiences in battle, where time seemed to slow down and he could anticipate every move his adversary made.  That’s what happened as he came down the stairs too.  It looked to Arthur like Merlin was trying to disengage -- he turned away from Cedric to pick up another chamber pot.  But Cedric wasn’t finished with Merlin -- he stepped closer, his eyes bugged out and angry.  Merlin straightened up, about to empty the pot into the cart, when Arthur saw the quick flash of gold in Cedric’s eyes.  And before Arthur could slow his momentum coming down those last few stairs, he saw several things happen in quick succession: first, a bit of rope wrapped itself around Merlin’s ankle; then, Merlin tried to pivot to dump the chamber pot, but his ankle was caught and he pitched forward instead; and finally, the force of Merlin’s fall launched the contents of the chamber pot at Arthur.  Merlin put his hands out just in time to keep himself from landing face first on the ground.  Merlin jerked his head up immediately, and Arthur saw Merlin’s eyes flare too.  Then Cedric sailed through the air, landing on his back on the cobblestones.

After that it was a blur.  He remembered hearing himself yell, and seeing Merlin’s panicked look as the guards rushed to Arthur’s aid.  He must have called for Cedric’s arrest, because as soon as the guards confirmed that Arthur was uninjured, two of them heaved Cedric to his feet and dragged him off to the dungeon.  Arthur couldn’t say exactly how it happened, but his chainmail, which had borne the brunt of the assault, was removed and carried off to the armory by an unlucky squire.  And then Arthur waved off any further assistance and stomped off to his chambers to clean up.

***

After what felt like an eternity, his bath was ready.  Arthur dismissed George and told him to inform the guards that absolutely no one was to enter.  Then he barred the door.

Arthur had one foot in the tub when he saw Morgana’s face smiling up at him from the surface of the water.

“Good God, Morgana.  Get out of my bath!”  Arthur jumped back like a scalded cat.  What an eyeful she must have just had.

“Greetings to you too, brother dear.  Don’t worry, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”  Honestly, did he really have to know that?

“What is it?”  Count on Morgana to appear at the most inconvenient time possible.  Arthur looked around for something to cover himself with, but seeing nothing in easy reach, he kneeled down next to the tub and put his elbows on the edge, so that only his head and shoulders were visible to her.  “I’d really like to get in the bath right now.”

“Don’t let me stop you.”  Morgana smirked at him a moment longer until she was sure she had his attention.  “I just wanted to tell you that we’re less than a day’s ride from Camelot.  Emrys is close, Arthur.  I can feel it.  I hope you’re ready.”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, Morgana.  Let him come.  Anything he has in store for me can’t possibly be worse than what’s been going on downstairs.”

Morgana squinted at him through the ripples in the tub.  “What’s that in your hair?  You look like you’ve just taken a nap in a dung heap.”

“Never mind that.  When should I expect you?”

“Some time in the afternoon, I should think.”

“I hear common pleas in the morning.  I’ll look for you at lunchtime.”  Arthur paused.  “Morgana, you’ll be happy to know that I signed a treaty with Annis yesterday.  Agravaine’s crimes have been fully redressed.”

“Congratulations.  You must be pleased.”

“Yes, well, it’s a start.”

“Until tomorrow, Arthur.”

Arthur settled back in the tub, hoping for a moment’s peace and quiet, but he had only just finished rinsing the soap out of his hair when the door burst open.

“Merlin!  How did you get in here?”  Were his guards really that useless?  Arthur grabbed his washcloth and quickly covered his crotch.

“Um.”  Merlin wiggled his fingers in the universal gesture signifying magic.  “They’ll wake up in a few hours.  They usually nap anyway -- it’s just a little early tonight.”  Merlin hovered nervously by the door.

Of course.  Until today, Arthur had only seen Merlin use his magic for small things like conjuring pretty lights or heating bath water.  But down in the courtyard just now he had witnessed what Merlin had done to Cedric.  Cedric’s feet had left the ground, and he had landed with a sickening thump, so it really shouldn’t surprise Arthur that Merlin could evade the castle guards.  One didn’t really need magic to do that anyway.  “Come in, Merlin.”  If they were going to have a conversation, Arthur wasn’t going to shout across the room to do it.

“Look, I came here to apologize.”  Merlin waved in Arthur’s direction, seeming to encompass the whole series of events that had necessitated the bath.

“It wasn’t your fault.  I could see you were tripped.”  Arthur was just relieved, after Merlin’s unusual reticence earlier, that Merlin was actually talking to him.

“No, not that.  I mean, yes, that.  But I’m sorry for everything.  This was a mistake.”

Arthur shook his head.

Merlin pulled up a stool near the tub and sat -- uninvited, but Arthur expected nothing less.  “I understand now, Arthur.  We never should have come here.  It’s been a disaster.  You saw down there.  I can’t even get them to clean up their own messes.  I don’t know why I thought I could get them to change the ruling order.”

“You can’t blame yourself for Kanen’s wrongdoing.  You had nothing to do with that.”  Arthur relaxed.  This was familiar territory – him and Merlin, at bath time, in Arthur’s chambers, talking about the perils of leadership.  Perhaps they could overcome the awkwardness of the last week after all.

“Kanen wasn’t the real issue, Arthur.  We could have beaten him if people had been willing to work together.  A true collective is stronger than any individual adversary.”  Merlin shook his head.  “You knew what the problem was days ago.  I mean, yes, Kanen made it more difficult, but the real issue was that not enough people were willing to help with the dirty work.”  Merlin leaned forward, with his elbows on his knees.  He looked exhausted.

“This last week has been really hard.  It’s been days of fending off Cedric’s motions to adjourn and points of order, and settling turf wars among the vendors.  I guess I just didn’t expect things would go sour like this.”  It pained Arthur to see Merlin so despondent, and to realize that Merlin could have used his support these last several days.

“I know you said we had until dusk tomorrow, but it’s not going to happen.  Maybe a small group of us could work nonstop to clear the mess away, but I’ve decided that I’m not going to do it and I don’t think any of the others will either.”  Arthur sat up, surprised.  This wasn’t what he had expected at all.  Merlin continued.  “What for?  So the trinket sellers can stay in business?  Everyone is packing up now.  I told them that if they weren’t going to help clean up they should just take their tents and go home.  And I hope you don’t mind, but I told the kitchen staff to stop bringing the castle’s leftovers.  That should get rid of anyone who was inclined to hang around.  Not that they were going to stay anyway.  They’re all sick of me.”  Merlin sounded disgusted with himself.

“You know that’s not true, Merlin.”

“You don’t think so?  Cedric was all ready to call a vote of no confidence, but he couldn’t get a quorum.  That’s what was going on when you came down the stairs.”  Merlin shook his head.  “Quorum or no quorum, it’s just a technicality.  He’s right about my leadership.”

“Hah!  So you admit it!  You are the camp leader.”  Arthur knew he was being ridiculous, but he thought this was an important point.  He was dismayed to see Merlin’s expression, though.

“Well if you mean that my experiment in consensus building and collectivism failed, then yes, I suppose you’re right.  But I really didn’t want to be the leader.  I thought people would want to make decisions for themselves.  I guess I was wrong about that.  People just wanted me to do things for them.  And I couldn’t even manage that.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself, Merlin.  Look at what you’ve accomplished.”

Merlin looked at Arthur skeptically.

“What about those committees of yours?  Didn’t they get anything done?  I went to one meeting with Gwaine and it seemed to me he made some progress on reforming the Knights’ Code.”

“I heard about that, Arthur.  That wasn’t progress.  You had already made the necessary reforms yourself.”

“All right then.  What about your changes to the legal code?  Did you ever come up with proposals for regulating the use of magic in Camelot?”  Merlin looked surprised that Arthur would even mention this, but also pleased.  The truth, though, was that Arthur was grasping at straws.  After the confrontation that he had witnessed between Merlin and Gilli, Arthur had no idea if that committee had ever met again.

“Ugh.  That was basically a disaster too.  There are some committee reports, and we’re going to present them at common pleas tomorrow.  But they’re just white papers -- they’re not even binding.  I wanted to get the approval of the entire movement, but we ran out of time.  Half of my committee members had to return home to tend their crops, and the other half are eager to get back to their camps in the forests.  Besides, most of the people down there now are just here for the free food.  They don’t even care about the protest.”  Merlin was so downcast that Arthur couldn’t think of a single thing he could say to cheer him up.  “Anyway, we’ll all be gone after tomorrow.  And we’ll sleep in the woods tonight.  So like I said, I’m sorry about all this.”

“I’m serious, Merlin.  You have nothing to apologize for.”  Arthur couldn’t believe the camp was disbanding so quickly.  He had been sure the Druids would work together to clean up, or at least protest the eviction.  Were they really giving up without even trying?  Would Merlin just leave?  He had thought they would have more time.

“But I do, Arthur.  And there’s something else I’m sorry for too.”  Merlin shifted in his seat, looking away for a moment before meeting Arthur’s eyes again.  “I shouldn’t have pushed you.  You were being kind, and I took advantage.”

It took Arthur a moment or two to realize what Merlin was talking about. “No.  No, Merlin, that’s not what happened.”

“Really Arthur.  I had no business coming up here, night after night.  And I certainly had no business asking you to wash my back.”  Merlin colored, clearly embarrassed.  And Arthur, to his own mortification, realized that this reminder of the last time they’d been together at bath time had made his cock stir.  He didn’t dare look down, but he knew that the wet washcloth he had draped over his crotch was doing nothing to conceal his growing erection.

“Merlin --”  Arthur glanced at the rack, where his bath sheet was hanging.  He couldn’t reach it from the tub.  He wanted to get out of the bath so that he and Merlin could have a proper conversation about this, but there was no way to do it without fully exposing himself.

“No, hear me out.  I should never have let my personal feelings interfere. I know you have responsibilities you can’t ignore, expectations you have to fulfill.  And I know now that there’s no place for me in any of that.  What’s happened down in the courtyard proves that.  But you -- you have a great destiny.”

“You keep saying that.”  Arthur looked over to the rack again, and willed himself to stand up and grab the sheet.  He hesitated for just a few seconds too long.

“It’s true, Arthur.  You do.”  Merlin looked wistful.  “Look, I have to go.  I have an errand to run in the lower town, and I told Will I’d help pack up.  Tomorrow is a big day.”  Merlin rose abruptly, walking to the door before Arthur could stop him.  “I’ll see you later, Arthur.  I promise I won’t leave without saying goodbye first.”

***

Arthur woke up early, to silence in the courtyard.  Or, not silence exactly, but the customary sounds of early morning in Camelot -- carts clacking over the cobblestones; greetings being exchanged; horses being readied for a patrol -– not the shouting and banging that had become routine over the last month.

Arthur had come to some important conclusions after Merlin’s departure the night before.  The moment the door had shut behind Merlin, Arthur had jumped out of the bath and prepared to run after him.  But running after Merlin soaking wet and wearing nothing more dignified than a dressing gown was only slightly less embarrassing than getting out of the bath, semi-erect, with Merlin standing right there.  More to the point, Arthur was faced with the same problem he had had that night he went down to the courtyard and nearly started searching the tents.  What would he say to Merlin once he found him?  So he stayed in his chambers and thought about what he wanted to say.  He didn’t have it all worked out, but he knew he couldn’t just let Merlin go.  There was still the audience the next day.  And Merlin had promised not to leave without saying goodbye -- Arthur was counting on that.

George hadn’t yet arrived with breakfast, so Arthur went over to the window to see what was going on down below.  The Druids were gone, and so were nearly all of their things.  The piles of food waste Arthur had seen yesterday had already been hauled away.  What remained was the bare framework of the camp.  The boards and barrels were still mostly in place.  A few roughhewn tables and benches that had previously been hidden by tents and curtains were now visible as well.  But that was it, really, aside from bits of flotsam and jetsam -- tattered blankets and oil cloths that weren’t worth transporting, broken vessels of various kinds, stray items of clothing.  It was hardly anything, and the castle servants would no doubt have it cleared away in a matter of hours.  Amazing how quickly one could restore order once all the people were gone.  Arthur allowed himself a brief pang of regret at the departure of this most unusual delegation of guests, but then George arrived with breakfast and it was time for Arthur to dress.

The audience at common pleas was nothing like Arthur had imagined it.  For one thing, the protesters had secured the last appointment of the morning, so all the other supplicants had already left.  Aside from Arthur, the bailiff, the scribe, and a couple of guards, it was just Merlin, Will, and Gwaine.  So, no throngs of contrite protesters begging for his indulgence.  And because Emrys had never shown up, there was no fearsome and white haired mythological Druid king either.  Arthur never had his trial, so there weren’t any grand pronouncements about Arthur’s worthiness, or about the dawn of a new era.  No roast boar, no handshake, no wine.  But when the bailiff called them in, it did look to Arthur like Merlin, Will, and Gwaine had made an effort to wash, and to comb their hair.  That, at least, was something.

Common pleas sounded rather fancy, but Arthur liked to keep these meetings informal.

“Merlin, Will, Gwaine.  I understand you asked to meet with me today?”

Merlin stepped forward and bowed uncertainly.  Clearly he was the one who was going to be doing most of the talking.  “Yes, um, sire.  As your majesty is well aware, the Occupy Camelot movement has been here in your courtyard for this last month.”

“Yes, Merlin, that had not escaped my notice.”  Arthur couldn’t help but smile at Merlin’s attempts at deference.

“And, um, I think you know that we were here because you had promised to treat the Druids with the respect they deserved.”

Arthur nodded.

“So we wanted to make sure that you kept your promise.”

“I’m a man of my word, Merlin.  I have always had every intention of making peace with the Druids.”

“Yes, well, I think we all know that now.  But you might understand where some people needed convincing.”  Merlin glanced over at Will, who actually did look contrite.  Arthur took that as a personal victory.  “Be that as it may.  We had hoped to be able to present you with Occupy Camelot’s formal recommendations, but unfortunately we were unable to bring the proposals to a vote. Nevertheless, some of our committees have prepared white papers that we believe may be of assistance to you in your efforts to make peace between Camelot and the Druid peoples.”

“Let’s have a look, then.”  Arthur held his hand out, expecting to receive the messy sheaf of parchment that the goat had nearly trampled in the courtyard the day before.  He was therefore quite surprised when Merlin produced a bound volume, only slightly smaller than the Roman military histories Arthur had studied as a youth.

Arthur suspected this bit of showmanship had been planned, because Merlin smiled at Arthur’s reaction, and then asked if he could approach the throne.  Arthur motioned him forward, and had the bailiff bring a small table over to his right so that he and Merlin could both look at the book he had brought.

“Merlin, where did this come from?”  On closer inspection, Arthur saw that the book was rather crudely made, the thick stack of parchment sewn to two leather covered wooden boards, with a simple button and cord to hold it closed.  There was no spine, and no title on the front.

“I’m not sure what you mean.  It’s the product of all our meetings.”

“Yes, yes, I understand that.”  Actually, Arthur was still wrapping his mind around the idea that the protesters had put quite so much in writing.  “I mean the book.”  Arthur rapped his knuckles on the cover.

“Oh, yes.  There’s a bookbinder in the lower town who is a supporter of ours.  He put this together for us last night.  It’s a bit hasty, but I think it will hold.”

And then Merlin sidled up a little closer to the throne, and actually perched on the arm while he started flipping through the book on the table in front of them.  This close, Arthur could smell that Merlin’s clothes were freshly laundered.

“Let me show you what we’ve done here, shall I?”  Merlin opened the book to the title page, which read “Proceedings of the Occupy Camelot Movement” and turned the pages quickly as he spoke.

“So, we have some of the organizational documents here at the front.  The mission statement -- Leon was there for that part, if I recall.  The minutes of the first meeting of the committee of the whole, where we established ourselves as Occupy Camelot and created the subcommittee structure.  Here are our procedural rules.  And then we get into the white papers.  I left out some of the strictly internal stuff.  I didn’t think you needed copies of the budgets, or records of the proceedings of the library committee.  Oh, but remind me that we have some books to donate before we go.  Here we have the proposals on land reform and taxation, and then here’s the notes regarding reform of the Knights’ Code.”

The book was now open to a spot about one quarter of the way through.  Merlin adjusted his perch on the arm of the throne, and Arthur took the opportunity to lean forward a bit so that his forearm pressed into Merlin’s hip.  Merlin seemed alarmed that he might have accidentally bumped Arthur, but Arthur gave him a small smile and nod, and Merlin relaxed, pushing back a little against Arthur’s arm.

“This part here is the real meat and potatoes.  There’s a bit of a recitation of the history of the practice of magic in Camelot, and some commentaries on the rules regarding magic from before your father’s time.  But then we get into our proposals for a new section of the legal code.  We drafted statutes, and we also have the implementing regulations, and a recommended table of penalties for the different infractions.  And at the end of this section we put some form documents for licenses and permits of various kinds.  You know, for practicing sorcerers?”

Merlin held an inch wide section of the book between his thumb and forefinger as he flipped forward a few more pages.  Practicing sorcerers?  All right, then.

“Right.  And then here at the back is our proposed treaty language.  It looks like a lot, but really we’re just incorporating what’s already in the draft statutory provisions.  It should be pretty easy to follow once you have a moment to sit down with it.”

Merlin closed the book, and stood, stepping back a bit from the throne, but still a good deal closer than any normal supplicant would consider standing.  So much for deference to royalty.  “So, yeah.  I think that’s everything.  Gwaine?  Will?  Did I forget anything you can think of?”

Gwaine and Will shook their heads, and Arthur tried to formulate a response.  Ordinarily, people came to him at common pleas with problems for him to solve.  He would hear the dispute, or the request, ask a few questions, and dispense justice as best he could.  Arthur couldn’t recall a time when an audience at common pleas consisted of someone offering to solve a problem for him -- never mind a problem that had bedeviled him for the better part of a year.  It took Arthur a few moments to get his bearings.

“Merlin, this is truly remarkable.  I had no idea you and your movement were working on this.  I mean, of course I knew about the committee meetings, but I hadn’t realized how broad your agenda was, and I certainly wasn’t expecting that you would produce anything this comprehensive.  Obviously I will need to consult with my council before we can act on any of this, but you’ve given all of us a lot to think about.”  Arthur paused, wondering for a moment whether he should proceed.  He decided there was no harm in it.  “It has been closely held until now, but I have been trying for some months to contact a Druid elder who might have authority to act as a representative for the Druid peoples in peace negotiations with Camelot.  Those efforts have been unsuccessful thus far.  Frankly, I don’t even know if any such Druid elder exists.  But the materials you’ve presented to me here today suggest that these efforts are no longer required.  It appears to me that Occupy Camelot speaks for the Druid people.”  Merlin, Will, and Gwaine all nodded their agreement.  “So perhaps you can answer this -- if we were to reach an agreement along the lines that you have suggested, do you have the authority to bind the Druids?”

Merlin tried to avoid the question.  “Oh, well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.  We thought you’d probably want some time to digest all this and make whatever counterproposals you felt necessary.  I don’t think any of us has a firm idea about the mechanics of closing the deal.”  Merlin looked over at Will and Gwaine, trying to gauge their reaction.  They both shrugged.

That was awfully vague.  Someone was going to have to sign a treaty on behalf of the Druids.  “What about your movement?  Will you be able to get everyone’s agreement once they’ve all left the courtyard?”

“That’s not hard, Arthur.  We came here so you would take notice, but we can caucus in the villages and forests over the summer.  And I suppose after the harvest some of us could return to finalize the language.  We’re a collective -- we can figure out who the proper signatories are once we have an agreement in principle, don’t you think?”

And with that, the knot Arthur had had in his stomach since the night before, when Merlin said he’d be leaving, loosened just a bit.  Merlin would come back after the harvest.  It wasn’t everything that Arthur wanted, but it was a start.  And although it sounded like he might need a little encouragement, it also seemed that Merlin was finally going to own up to his position as the leader of the movement too.  Collective or no collective, Arthur was willing to bet that Merlin would sign an agreement on behalf of all the Druids.  That meant he would have to come back.

Arthur had just finished instructing the scribe to record that he had received the proceedings of the Occupy Camelot movement and had taken them under advisement, with subsequent negotiations to occur after the harvest, when the doors to the throne room burst open.  And before the guards could stop him, Mordred, the dark haired lad, came hurtling toward the throne.

“No!  No, you can’t make me!  I won’t leave her!”  Mordred was only a few feet away, right next to Merlin.  Arthur saw that he had a small dagger clutched in his fist.

Merlin must have seen it in the same moment Arthur did, because he grabbed Mordred’s wrist and knocked the dagger out of his hand in one quick move.  Even after the dagger clattered to the floor and the guards came running, Mordred continued to struggle in Merlin’s grip, seemingly desperate to get at Arthur.

“Mordred!  What is this?  What’s gotten into you?”  Merlin had both of Mordred’s hands caught in his, and had kneeled down to talk to him face to face.  Arthur, seeing that Mordred didn’t pose any serious danger, motioned for the guards to step back.

“I won’t go!  You can’t make me!”  Mordred was crying now, clearly frustrated that Merlin was restraining him.

It took a few minutes for Mordred to stop struggling, and several minutes after that for Mordred to stop hiccupping.  Once Merlin had him talking rationally again, they learned that Mordred had befriended a girl in the lower town, Kara.  Now that the protest was over, Mordred didn’t want to return to the Druid camp in the woods.  He wanted to stay in Camelot.  Arthur didn’t really see a way for a ten year old orphan to live independently in Camelot, but then Gwaine said that he had been wrong about Arthur after all, and that he was thinking of staying behind to become a knight (if Arthur would have him, of course).  Gwaine suggested that perhaps he could take Mordred as his squire and be responsible for the boy’s upkeep and behavior.

Ten was a bit young for a squire, but Mordred seemed very eager to stay, and Gwaine promised to keep a close eye on him.  Arthur had Mordred swear that there would be no more assassination attempts, and when Arthur shook Mordred’s hand to seal the deal, Mordred looked him right in the eye and nodded gravely.

***

Morgana was waiting for Arthur in his chambers when he went to eat his lunch.  Aside from a few blurry scrying sessions, Arthur hadn’t seen her in nearly four months and was surprised at the change in her appearance.  Yes, she’d had Gwen to attend her while she was away, but there was still no escaping the fact that she had been living rough, in the woods with the Druids.  Her dress was ragged at the hem and her hair had grown long and unruly.  Morgana didn’t greet him; she began speaking immediately, in a voice that sounded like it came from very deep in her chest.

“He’s here, I’ve seen it.”  Morgana stared, unseeing.

Arthur didn’t need to ask.  There was only one person they had been talking about.

“He was in my dreams last night.  He was in the throne room.  With you.  I saw him by your side, at your right hand.  You made peace and ruled together.  He showed you your better nature.  You showed him his strength.  You faced danger and he protected you.  He served you.  And you served him too.”

Morgana took a step toward Arthur, but nearly collapsed.  Arthur helped her to a chair and poured her some water.  After a moment, her eyes cleared.

“Please Arthur.  Go to him.”

***

Arthur found Merlin at the rear of the courtyard, sitting on the stairs by the keep.  Arthur sat down beside him.  After a moment’s silence he decided to break the ice with a bit of small talk.

“So, that’s good news about Gwaine.  He’s going to stay after all.”

“He said he’d found a king worth serving.  He’ll make a fine knight.”  Merlin sounded glum.

“I haven’t seen him fight yet, but he has as good a chance as anyone.”  Arthur had a feeling Gwaine was going to make a very fine knight indeed.

“I think Will is staying too.”

“You must be joking.”

“I’m serious.  With Kanen under arrest, he sees an opportunity in the privy cleaning business.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.  He hates the privies.”

“Who better to improve them?  He says he has an idea for a new sort of self-cleaning loo.”

“Well, good luck to him, then.  We certainly need someone willing to take over the job.  And I can’t think of anyone I’d rather see up to his elbows in shit.”

Merlin laughed, and Arthur smiled in return.

From the stairs, they could see the remains of the camp, where castle laborers were nearly finished carting away the fencing.  They watched together in silence as two men stacked boards on a hand cart.  Arthur saw no point in any further preamble.

“You’re Emrys, aren’t you?”

“Um.  I don’t know.”  Merlin didn’t seem surprised by Arthur’s question.  “I came here thinking I might be able to figure that out, to see if I was capable of leading my people.  And then, after a while, I hoped I was, because it would mean there was a place for me here with you.  But it hasn’t exactly been encouraging, has it?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  Don’t sell yourself short.”  Arthur smiled and nudged Merlin with his elbow.   “You did what you set out to do, right?”

Merlin didn’t look convinced.

“Leadership isn’t always about people following orders, Merlin.  You, of all people, should realize that.  Sometimes you have to lead from behind, see where people are willing to go.  And just because it didn’t all go to plan doesn’t mean you failed.  Actually, I think by any reasonable standard this protest was a success.”

“Maybe.  But if I really am a legend isn’t it all supposed to be a lot more impressive?”

“I can’t speak to the legend part of it, but being king is certainly a lot less impressive than people think.”  Arthur paused, and they both watched the same two laborers roll barrels across the courtyard.

“I guess you have a point.  Because you’re not impressive at all.”  Merlin smiled a little, and nudged Arthur back.

“All right, then.  If we’re talking about legends, what about me?  Am I the Once and Future King?”  Arthur was mostly joking, but Merlin took his question quite seriously.

“You could be.  You certainly met every challenge I put before you.”

“You did try my patience, if nothing else.”

“I mean it, Arthur.  I did everything I could think of to provoke you.  You treated me -- us -- well.  You showed yourself to be a worthy king.”  Merlin held Arthur’s gaze, nodding for emphasis, and they both took a moment to let that sink in.  “What do you think -- are you the Once and Future King?”

“I hadn’t really considered it.  Does it matter?”

“Not anymore.”

“I thought not.  Listen, Merlin.  I know the story too -- the one about the Magician and the King.”

“Two sides of the same coin?  Destined to unite all of Albion?  That story?”

Arthur ignored the sarcasm.  This was important.  “Well, here’s the thing.  I was going to try to make peace anyway.  You saw what we accomplished a few days ago.  If Annis and I hadn’t come to an agreement it would have meant war between Caerleon and Camelot.  Maybe not right away, but certainly the next time there was a skirmish on the border.  And I’m trying to figure out what to do about Essetir now that Cenred’s dead.”

“That would be wonderful if you could do something, Arthur.  The situation there is awful.”

Arthur nodded and continued.  “I think you could probably help me with that.  And your group has practically written the agreement between Camelot and the Druids.”

“You really think you’re going to be able to use all those reports?”

“Absolutely.  I’m certain that you and I will sign a treaty in the fall, especially since you already have most of the Druid people behind you.  So, look.  We could just go on like this, each of us doing what we were planning to do in the first place.  Or we could do it together.”  Arthur paused, willing Merlin to understand what he was trying to say.  He leaned into Merlin’s shoulder and took his hand, lacing their fingers together.  “Maybe you are Emrys, and maybe I really am the Once and Future King.  Or maybe we’re just Merlin and Arthur.  But I don’t think either one of us was meant to do this alone.”  This wasn’t quite the speech he had prepared the night before, but Arthur was beginning to think there would be time for that later.  He hoped that his message was clear.

Merlin’s smile, and the squeeze of his fingers, told him that it was.  They sat there awhile longer, hand in hand, watching as the castle servants swept the last bits of rubbish from the courtyard.

Merlin looked down at their joined hands, and then up at Arthur, his eyes bright with emotion.  “Perhaps this really is the dawn of a golden age.”

Arthur leaned in, and kissed Merlin gently on the lips.  “I think it is.”


End file.
